


Boys Just Want to Have Fun

by Anonymous



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault, Awkward Conversations, Cameos, Cuban Lance (Voltron), F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Harassment, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Inspired by a Movie, Japanese Shiro (Voltron), Keith and Shiro are Siblings, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Speaks Spanish, Lime, M/M, Making Out, Pidge | Katie Holt is Savage, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 03:52:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 77,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13309839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lance is the new boy. Keith is the bad boy. Lance goes to Catholic school. Keith goes to public school. They don't think the same, they don't dress the same and they sure don't dance the same. But they both want the same thing: to win a competition to become the new regular couple on Dance TV. As if their personal differences weren't problematic enough, their legal guardians might have something to say about them competing to dance on a TV show, and one of their competitors plays really dirty. But between trying to get along and trying to stay out of trouble, they're still going to try to have a little fun.





	1. Put your hands up in the air

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on an 80's movie called Girls Just Want to Have Fun, which for the most part is about the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. It's one of those movies you've never heard of, but you recognize half the people in it, except they all look a lot younger than you're used to seeing them. I wanted to do this when I saw the first practice scene, which features a moody bemulletted boy wearing a red shirt arguing with a sassy string bean about who has the more happening dance moves, and I thought to myself, 'why does that chemistry seem so familiar?' But also because I enjoy this movie, and if I was going to watch a movie over and over again to re-familiarize myself with the story beats, I wouldn't mind it being this one. When I started rewriting this story with Voltron characters, I knew a lot of it was going to have to be altered because of their differing motivations, but I figured I could still hit the main story beats and emotional beats, so that became the goal. Then some wild subplots appeared and I had to run those down, so there is at least one chapter in here that has nothing to do with the movie's plot. Okay, maybe two. Possibly three. But this story is finished! It's just a matter of editing and posting. Some angst slipped in there, partly because the Voltron characters just naturally trend that way, but also because of a couple of scenes from the movie that I thought treated non-con in way too casual of a manner (as 80's movies often did tbh) so I'm revisiting those with a different perspective. None of it is graphic and it doesn't really appear until chapter 6. I'll update the tags as I go. I started writing this way back before some revelations about the VLD characters came out, so there are some differences from canon that you will notice (for example, Allura is an adult) and I decided to leave some of those in because it's an AU and it worked for this story. Also I borrowed characters from VDotU, Vehicle Voltron and Voltron Force for the supporting roles wherever I could fit them in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dance contest is announced. Lance, Keith and Lotor all want in on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Shout, break out from the way you were, 'cause it's your chance to dream" - (Come On) Shout performed by Alex Brown

St. Mark School for Boys made an imposing picture of academic propriety, with its four storeys of brick façade and windows shining bright as mirrors in the September morning sun.

Or it would have, if this weren’t the umpty-millionth time Lance had started a new term at just such a school. After the third transfer, the Catholic day schools all started looking like variations on a Collegiate Gothic theme. Lance glanced down at his schedule again and thanked heaven for online syllabi. His new homeroom was on the third floor and if his luck held today he just might make it on time. He sauntered in under the silent roar of rampant lions on the pediment over the doors.

Then he found out this antiquated building had no elevator. A quarter turn staircase swept up the right side of an entrance hall that was sparkling and empty as a hand-washed glass. No students loitering about meant one thing: class was already in session.

“Mierda.”

Just because Lance was no longer impressed by the mini-grandeur of historic school buildings didn’t mean he enjoyed making a less-than-stellar first impression. He took the stairs two at a time, loping past the second floor landing, up another flight and into a carpeted hallway on the third floor. There was nobody in sight, but he could hear mumbling noises coming from behind the closed doors. This must be one of those schools that called roll right on the dot instead of giving students a minute or two to take their seats. Joy. Lance trotted down the hall reading door numbers: 301, 303, 305…

“307.” Taking a deep breath, Lance turned the knob and opened the door to the scent of chalk and a faint combination of various brands of body spray and nervous teen perspiration. Ah, that first day of school smell.

A stocky bearded man turned from the podium to give him the stink eye. “I suppose you’d be L.C. Martinez?”

“Lance Martinez sir, I apologize for my tardiness sir, it won’t happen again sir.” Hopefully the rhetorical rule of three would have a mollifying effect on his new homeroom teacher, making him forget the rote excuses and only remember that Lance had respectfully addressed him as sir.

The classics professor – Iverson? – looked Lance up and down, no doubt trying to find something wrong with his uniform. Khaki slacks, white button-down shirt, blue and red striped tie under a navy blue cardigan with the school patch on the left chest. His dress shoes were shined and his hair was coiffed. Never let it be said that Lance Cárdenas Martinez allowed himself out in public less than immaculately groomed, thank you very much.

“See that it doesn’t,” Iverson harrumphed. “Go sit with the other Martinez.” He waved a hand vaguely towards the row of students sitting closest to the windows. Second from the back, right under a shaft of sunlight with dust motes spiraling over his head like a halo, a square-jawed boy with a sweet smile waved shyly. Next to him was an empty desk.

Lance allowed himself a quick huff of relief before putting on his most charming smile and taking his place next to the other Martinez.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The other Martinez was named Hector Oalo Colón Martinez, “but everybody calls me Hunk,” and he was about the sweetest cinnamon roll Lance had ever met. After comparing schedules it turned out they had four out of eight classes plus lunch period together. Lance was not surprised when other kids congenially greeted Hunk in the halls, but he was surprised that none of them seemed inclined to do more than that.

When lunch time rolled around they found a small table tucked in the corner next to the exposed brick wall and set down their trays of beige foodstuffs. Once again plenty of people said ‘how are ya,’ but nobody invited themselves over to join them. How was this sweet kid not more popular?

Hunk covertly pulled a bottle of Mayo-Ketchup out of his bag. “Want some?”

“Hunk, you’re the absolute best.” And somehow before he left this place, he’d make sure other people knew it too.

So far he’d noticed the other boy was a wizard at calculus and no slouch at Latin. They had AP Anthropology together on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so there was another clue the guy was brilliant. Hunk never tooted his own horn in class, though, letting other people extrapolate off his answers and hog the glory.

If he didn’t want to call attention to his academic prowess, maybe he had a hobby Lance could work with. Operation Make Hunk Popular: fact finding mission was a go. “So what do you like to do for fun?”

And that was how Lance discovered that the Home Ec elective Hunk was taking was not just for an easy A. But it was also how he found out the two of them shared a singular passion.

“You watch DTV too?” The mystery fillet sandwich du jour hovered momentarily forgotten in Hunk’s hands.

“Dude, the first thing I do when we move into a new place is program the DVR so I don’t miss it.”

“You don’t watch it live?”

“Extracurriculars.” Lance dipped a tater tot into a pond of Mayo-Ketchup and took a bite. “I’m usually still at school during first airing.” Allura would want to sign him up for stuff again, but maybe he’d get a little reprieve until she got her bearings in Chicago. Unlike other places they’d landed, this was her first time here too.

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight and watch with me? I live close enough to school that you shouldn’t miss anything.” Hunk paused mid-chew. “Unless you don’t want to, you don’t have to just because I said.”

“I’d love to.”

Hunk beamed like the sun.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance fired off a quick text to Allura while waiting for Hunk to bring his car around.

 

Made a new friend, won’t be home for dinner. SYL luv u bye.

 

Not twenty seconds later, a burst of Photronique announced her reply.

 

Glad you’re making friends. Stop by my office before you disappear into your room for the night.

 

She’d probably looked up his class schedule and was plotting his activities already. She’d let him indulge in one dance-related thing and then fill up the rest of his time with various foofaraw intended to make him look more well-rounded on his college applications. He’d been a running back, yearbook staff, a member of the debate team, a member of the swim team, and Puck in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. The approaching growl of a V8 engine pulled him away from wondering what he’d be this time.

Hunk rumbled up to the curb in a golden yellow Mercury Cougar of some 70’s vintage, the kind with the swoopy molding on the door panels.

“Sweet ride!”

Hunk grinned. “Thanks, man. Been restoring her for over a year now. Still not done with her yet, but she runs like a top, don’t you honey.”

Lance laughed as his new friend continued baby talking the car while they merged into Chicago traffic. He had lived in a number of large metropolitan areas with Allura over the years, and the discovery part of the experience never got old for him. He felt relaxed enough in Hunk’s company to gawk out the window like a tourist at the early twentieth century buildings lining the curbs and glittering skyscrapers off in the distance stretching up to the zenith blue sky.

Hunk’s family lived in a Folk Victorian behind a tall iron fence just off West Division Street. His mother ran out of the house wearing waterlily print scrubs and carrying a six month-old baby in blue and white romper as they were walking in.

“Hector, don’t forget you agreed to look after Tamara tonight.” She pressed the baby into Hunk’s arms. “You know how fussy she can get near her bedtime.”

“Don’t worry Mamá, she’ll be fine. I’ll put her in the car seat when I drop Lance off later, she’ll be out like a light by the time I get back home.” Hunk’s dad was a long haul trucker, and his sisters were all too young to babysit an actual baby. Hunk had explained in the car ride over that he was often the auxiliary adult when his mother was at work.

After some more rushed greetings and instructions, Hunk’s mom was out the door and Hunk was striding straight past the living room and into a wood-paneled kitchen, baby in arms.

“I’m making picadillo tonight,” he called over his shoulder. “My other little sisters are at a sleepover, so we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

“I love picadillo! Haven’t had it in years.” Not since the last time he’d been home. His mother had made it for his 14th birthday before he’d been smuggled out on Tio Casto’s charter flight to meet Allura in the Bahamas, taking nothing but the clothes on his back and a note sewn into his pocket granting Allura full custodial rights.

“Here, hold her while I start browning the beef.”

Lance found himself suddenly with an armful of baby. “Hey there, cutie.”

Tamara chortled around her pacifier. It was like a baby version of Hunk’s laugh. She had big doe eyes that reminded Lance of his niece at that age. Now Yostina was four years old and running around like a little hellion if his sisters were to be believed. She was growing up so fast and he was missing all of it.

“Check this out.” Hunk pulled down an under-the-cabinet TV and switched it on. “Now we won’t miss anything while I’m cooking.” He took a deep skillet down from the pot rack to preheat it.

The show had already started, but they’d only missed the host’s opening spiel. The first routine had the couples pulling some slinky moves to a synthpop number. DTV had the distinction of being the only dance performance show on network TV that featured both same sex and opposite sex pairs in sensual partner dances on every episode.

Jonathan and Lee did a sit dip into a pose that was EVERYTHING, and Lance squealed out loud, startling the baby into dropping her bobo. Luckily Lance’s fast reflexes kept it off the floor and popped it back into her little mouth before she cried.

“Damn, that’s some smooth moves you got there, that was almost as cool as the dancing.” Hunk laughed at Lance as he stirred sofrito into the sizzling beef.

“Sorry. It’s just, Leenathan is my favorite.”

“Hmm.” Hunk added a small mound of crushed garlic and shook the pan. “I heard a rumor those two are breaking up and leaving the show.”

“Hush your mouth, I refuse to believe it.” Not after that sit dip. Rowr.

Hunk just laughed again and stirred in the Sazón and olives before turning his attention to chopping the onions and bell peppers. By the time the dancers were done with their follow up number, a sports themed routine to a rock song, the kitchen smelled amazing.

They dished up picadillo over rice and cracked open cans of coconut soda pop, and took turns feeding Tamara chicken puree in her high chair next to the dinette set.

On the TV, a hand jive number came to a close and DTV’s host, a red-mustachioed dynamo with a Kiwi accent, careened into frame.

_“Coran here, closing out the live dance portion of tonight’s episode of DTV. Let’s hear it for our DTV studio dancers! Now it’s almost time for Nyma with the news. But first, some special news from our own power couple, Jonathan and Lee. Audience, get your tissues ready!”_

“Noooo!” Lance said around a mouthful of food. Hunk reached over and patted his back.

Coran passed the mic to Jonathan and Lee, who held it between them and talked over one another adorably. And infuriatingly, if the rumors were true.

“ _We are so lucky to have been a part of DTV since the beginning.”_

_“We’ll never forget you guys.”_

_“Never!”_

“¡Tremendo paquete!” Lance shook his fork at the screen.  


_“But we’re ready to take the next step.”_

_“Marriage!”_

The studio audience screamed. Lance squeaked.

_“And our own spin-off which will follow DTV!”_

Lance hyperventilated. Hunk’s back pats turned more forceful.

_“So after the honeymoon-“_

More audience screaming.

_“We’ll be back! Just you wait!”_

“Oh my God, Hunk!”

“Lance, swallow the rest of your food!”

 _“DTV wishes Jonathan and Lee all the best! But in the meantime, we’re going to need a new dancing pair! Think you’ve got what it takes to join this crew? We’ll be holding open auditions at_ _Millennium_ _Park_ _this Saturday to select the finalists. Then those finalists will compete right here on DTV! Don’t assume you need a partner to audition, our producers will be more than happy to set singles up together to see if you make the cut! Visit our website for more details!”_

“Hunk, this could be my one dance-related activity!”

“I don’t know man, if you make finalist it’s going to take up a lot of your time. Didn’t you say in the car that your cousin is kind of a hardass about your extracurriculars?”

Hunk didn’t know the half of it.

“I’ll make her understand.” His favorite show about his favorite thing, auditioning for new regulars right when Lance had just moved to the area where that show is made? It was like the stars were aligning to give him this opportunity. Who was he to resist the will of the universe?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 _“Think you’ve got what it takes to join this crew? We’ll be holding open auditions at_ _Millennium_ _Park_ _this Saturday to select the finalists. Then those finalists will compete right here on DTV! Don’t assume you need a partner to audition, our producers will be more than happy to set singles up together to see if you make the cut! Visit our website for more details!”_

Pidge Holt flopped backwards on their tailgate chair so that they were viewing the bball court upside down. “You should do it.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb Keith.”

Keith Kim, the subject of Pidge’s scrutiny, wiped his damp bangs off his forehead with his forearm. He would have used his sleeve, but his shirt had been abandoned two quarters ago. If he didn’t have half his attention on DTV playing on Pidge’s phone, he would have beaten their brother at one-on-one already. That sneaky little gremlin. “Stop trying to distract me.”

“They’re right you know.” Matt Holt stood up from his crouch. “You’ve got as good a chance as anyone.”

Keith used Matt’s moment of geniality to shoot a hoop past his guard.

“Ah, man.” Matt threw up his arms and raked his hands through the chestnut mop he called hair.

“I don’t need validation from some dumb dance show.” Keith retrieved his shirt from the bleachers and wiped his face with it.

“That same dumb dance show that dragged this game out an extra thirty minutes because you kept watching it over my shoulder?” Pidge had the best poker face Keith had ever seen, and that was including the one he routinely saw in the mirror. They and their older brother were nearly identical in appearance, except Pidge was smaller and way more terrifying.

Keith took a long squirt from his water bottle to stall having to respond to Pidge’s implicit challenge, which gave Matt the opening he needed to play good cop.

“Say you just go see what happens. What have you got to lose?”

Only his dignity. Not that he would ever admit it in Pidge’s hearing. “They wouldn’t know how to handle my moves.”

“Show ‘em that you’re a tiger.” Pidge gave up the poker face for a big evil grin. “Show ‘em what you can do.” Their brother laughed his traitorous ass off.

“Real funny guys.”

“Maybe you’re the right man to bring some edge to the show, you ever think of that?”

Keith frowned at Pidge. “You’re not just thinking up some meme to make fun of me?”

“Even if I were, would that make it any less true?”

“Pidge is right.” Matt fished a towel out of his gym bag. “That show is groundbreaking in several ways, but the actual dance routines are practically covered in cobwebs.” He tossed a second towel to Keith. “Please use this before you put on that shirt. I don’t want to smell your B.O. in Dad’s car on the way to school tomorrow.”

“Alright fine, I’ll go to this audition. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t wanna see any Edgelord of the Dance memes pop up in my feeds later.”

“Fine,” Pidge sighed. “You’ve got a deal.”

Keith suspected the only reason they agreed so fast was because Nyma with the news came on, inciting predictable grumbling about “that facetious tart.” Keith resisted the temptation to poke fun, knowing he owed the easily won battle to Pidge’s grumpy fascination with Nyma’s stylized appearance and hauter-than-thou act as she basically read entertainment news off a cue card in front of a green screen.

_“This is Nyma signing off, and remember this people: no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be as good as me.”_

“My gender-fluid ass.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_“Hold for Mr. Drule.”_

Lotor examined his nails while waiting. Time for another manicure, after he got this business done with.

_“I thought I told you to hold my calls.”_

_“But it’s your son, sir!”_

There was a clanging noise close to the receiver, then, _“Procyon, what is it? I’m in the middle of a meeting.”_

“You’re always in a meeting!”

_“Boy, if you don’t get to the point in five seconds I’m hanging up. Five-“_

“I’m going to win the DTV competition.”

_“What the hell happened to the Diamond Challenge?”_

“It’s not challenging enough.”

There was some colorful swearing in French, which Lotor interrupted with, “You named me after a raccoon!”

_“Sooner or later you’re going to have to get over that. Systematic names are a family tradition!”_

“Maybe someday I’ll name my son something customary, like Mark or Timothy.”

_“Maybe someday you’ll learn that customary is for drones. What exactly are you hoping I’ll do about this DTV business?”_

“I’ll need costumes, and a first class partner. But not so first class as to overshadow me.”

_“Send me the bill, and stay out of my hair until it’s done with.”_

The receiver slamming down rang in Lotor’s ear.

“Gladly.” Lotor got the GALRA switchboard back with redial while browsing his closet app for something to wear. He could never get past his father’s personal secretary but the operator on the switchboard had a soft spot for him. Hopefully she wouldn’t get fired like the last one. Then he’d have to cultivate another resource and it was always such a pain.

_“Mr. Drule’s office.”_

“Hi doll. I wonder if I could trouble you to find the number for a Roy Throk? He’s a dancer at Castle Doom. And get me an appointment for a mani while you’re at it? Thanks babe.”

Lotor smirked and tapped the screen. He was really feeling the gray skinny suit with the puce silk shirt today. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Allura had purchased the top floor flat of a greystone in Logan Square. Usually she rented, but occasionally she made an investment so she could have some passive income from it after they moved out. She had a knack for finding properties that were under-priced due to purely cosmetic issues, and fixing them up. This was one of the ones Lance wouldn’t mind coming back to someday, especially given the amount of work he’d put in helping make it pretty again, but his time with Allura was almost up so low odds of that happening.

The greystone had a birdcage elevator installed, which Lance loved but Allura avoided for some reason. The building’s interior had coved ceilings and bay windows, and checkerboard floors in the common areas. They'd partially rehabbed their flat with oak flooring and lemon chiffon paint, and Allura had decorated it in the art deco style she favored more often than not.

Lance found her in her office as promised, poring over charts and blueprints on her Macbook Pro in full-on research mode, a Fisher Space Pen stabbed through her silver blonde bun. He rapped on the door to get her attention. She startled and then smiled blearily at him.

“Lance, you’re home!”

Cheese and crackers, she must be tired. Lance’s official job in this household was to make his family proud as the beneficiary of Allura’s considerable knowledge and resources, but his unofficial job was to make sure she ate and slept because she forgot to a ridiculous amount of the time.

“Have you eaten?”

“Ah, um…” She turned up her wrist to blink at her chronograph watch. “It’s not important.”

“Well here, have some unimportant picadillo. My new friend Hunk made it, it’s delicious and he sent me home with a tub of leftovers.” He’d literally filled a repurposed margarine tub with leftovers and put it in Lance’s hands. Lance snatched up a spork off Allura’s desk from the takeout she brought home the day before, and presented it to her along with the opened tub of culinary awesome.

Allura didn’t waste any time after her first sniff from the container. “That does smell wonderful.” She dug in. Lance would be lucky to see any more of it because his cousin could pack it away when she remembered to eat.

On the bright side though, maybe she would be in an appeased frame of mind when he made his case for the DTV contest.

“So, um, I figured out what I want to do for my one dance activity.”

One eyebrow went up, but the spork did not stop moving between the tub and Allura’s mouth. “Oh?”

“Yeah, you see there’s this dance competition.”

“Oh that’s wonderful Lance, a competition is an excellent way to test your resolve and stretch your boundaries.”

“I’m glad you think so. The first audition is this Saturday, and if I make the finals I’ll be competing in a televised dance-off.”

The spork stopped moving. “Televised?”

“Um, yeah it’s for Dance TV.”

The spork plopped into the tub. “Is this a competition for a spot on the show?”

“Yeah...”

“What about college, Lance? If you win this competition would you seriously give up all you have worked for, just for this?”

“I wouldn’t have to give up college though! I could go to college here, and I’d have a way to support myself!”

“You’d have a job, a full time job, and where would you go to school here? There are no Ivy League schools in this city.”

“University of Chicago is here and it’s just as competitive!” She should know, her current Postdoctoral Research assignment was based there.

“Alright.” She gazed out the window a moment, then back at Lance. Her gunmetal blue eyes bore through him. “Let’s play devil’s advocate for a moment. Let’s say you don’t get into U of C. It is, as you say, a very competitive school. Even more competitive than some of the very influential schools we’ve already scouted. What if you have to go to a safety school in another state? You will be held to a contract from which you cannot extract yourself without legal consequences, and it may put you off your schooling for years. Years, Lance!”

Lance locked eyes with his cousin. “But what if I do get in?”

Allura set the food aside and stood up, crossed her arms. “That’s a huge risk to take with your future. You remember our deal?”

Lance broke eye contact. “Of course I remember.”

It was family tradition. Allura was Lance’s benefactor, as Gran Tio Alfor had been hers, and someday Lance would be for someone else. They leapfrogged through the generations, choosing the brightest cousin on the island nearing high school age and becoming their designated guardian overseas, putting them through secondary school to give them their best shot at college and success, so that they could then pay it forward.

In a few years Allura might even take on another cousin, if she didn’t decide to start a family of her own, but it would be harder for them. If they came to the U.S. they’d have to go through the time and expense of an F1 Visa. Even if Allura decided to go back to the U.K., bringing a Cuban ward with her would still present challenges. Lance had made it into the U.S. just before the end of the ‘wet foot dry foot’ policy.

For now, Lance was the family hope and his future was not just his own.

“I am trying to keep your interests in mind, Lance.” Allura’s crossed arms took on a hugging posture. “Didn’t you enjoy playing Puck last year?”

“Yes.” He would have enjoyed it more if he could have played Puck in the ballet instead of the play, though.

“I signed you up for choir at St. Mark. The first practice is on Saturday.”

Lance glanced up. Allura was gazing upon him as softly as she ever had. “It is a musical activity, and you do have a lovely voice,” she said.

Lance smiled at the floor. “Thanks.” And that was probably the end of that. “So, I’m going to bed now. Don’t want to be late tomorrow.”

“Good night Lance.”

Lance undressed in the dark and curled up in the sleeping bag on his still-unmade bed. He stared out of the still-curtainless windows at the brick side walls of the building next door as he tried to fall asleep to the sounds of city traffic and Allura’s typing late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if these translations contain errors. It's been years since my last Spanish class.
> 
> Mierda - Literally means 'shit' and can be used as an expletive.
> 
> Tremendo paquete - Literal definition is 'tremendous package' but in Cuban slang is used to express disbelief.


	2. It doesn't matter what you wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance, Keith and Lotor compete in open auditions. Lance and Keith generate heat at first sight - as in, hot indignation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Knew you'd be a vision in white. How'd you get your pants so tight? Don't know what you're doing, but you must be living right." - Freeway of Love, performed by Aretha Franklin

 

The rest of the school week dragged on, brightened only by Hunk’s persistent attempts to cheer Lance up, and Allura piling the backseat of the car with sunflowers and driving them to the North Side for the Festival of la Virgen de la Caridad Del Cobre near the end of the week. Saturday morning finally rolled around, but instead of watching anime in his PJ’s with a bowl of Captain Crunch, Lance was stepping off the Metra in his uniform to go exercise his lyric baritone.

Attendance was called by having each boy state his name and sing out a few bars of music so that the choir director, Father Shannon, could place everybody. Lance chose Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain” and got a few laughs, plus one tremendous glare from some dude named Rax MacCarrick. What was his damage?

Then the fire alarm went off.

“Alright boyos, everybody file out now, single file if you will, there’s a good lad.” Father Shannon held open the door. “It’s likely just a drill, seeing as we’ve not had the sprinklers go off.”

Lance filed out, and as he was strolling past the tall bushes near the side of the building, a big hand reached out and yanked him behind the greenery.

“Ssshhh, Lance don’t scream.”

“Hunk?” For it was he, dressed casually in dungarees and a yellow pullover.

“Yeah, I kinda rigged the fire alarm to go off. They shouldn’t find out it was me. Hopefully. I set it on a timer.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah! Well, I can, I don’t know about other people. C’mon Lance, let’s go before somebody catches us back here.”

Go? “Go where?”

“Dude, seriously? The audition!”

Lance leaped on Hunk with a squeal and embrace. “You’re the best friend a boy could have I want to marry you and bear your children.”

Hunk laughed. “You’re welcome, and I hate to break your heart but I’m in love with another girl.”

Lance lightly punched Hunk in the arm, “You have a girlfriend and you never told me? You cad!”

“Well, it’s not so much that I have a girlfriend, as I have a girl who is my friend, and I’d like her to be my girlfriend but her brother always shows up whenever things are getting interesting… Lance we gotta go. I parked at a meter so nobody would see my car here.” Hunk ducked out of the bushes and then into an alley near the side of the building.

No way in hell was Lance going to forget that conversation, but he could save it for later.

“I don’t suppose you have a less choir boyish outfit in the trunk of your car?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I don’t see why I couldn’t have just taken Red.”

“Because we won’t all fit on the motorcycle.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And what? I resisted memes for you. I’m seeing this through.”

Keith and Pidge stood at the curb by the detached garage at Keith’s house. They were waiting for Matt to pull up in the clover green Honda Civic the Holt siblings had been souping up together ever since Matt bought it with the savings from his first summer job. Pidge had been sent ahead to make sure Keith didn’t bolt early on Red. A wise decision on their part, because Keith had been about to do just that when Pidge ran up and stopped him.

It’s not that he didn’t want to take his shot. It’s just that he didn’t want to take his shot while under the intense scrutiny of the Holt siblings. Except Keith could all too easily envision himself riding on past the Bean without stopping, so maybe it was a good thing the Holts insisted on coming along to act as a brake on his acute stress response.

The Honda swept around the block with an insect-like whine that one would not ordinarily associate with a teenager’s jalopy. It looked perfectly normal on the outside, but Keith knew it wasn’t entirely street legal under the hood and chassis. They were all still banned from driving it on school property because of an incident involving the car, a classmate, and Keith’s temper that happened on the last day of school the year before.

Matt leaned out of the driver’s side window.  “Ready?”

“Shotgun.” Pidge shot around the front of the car like a spring-loaded missile.

Keith’s shoulders slumped. “Fuck my life.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Hunk didn’t have any clothes in the trunk of his car, casual or otherwise. That meant Lance was going to have to dance in his brown Balmorals. He could ditch the sweater and tie but it would still be obvious he was wearing part of a school uniform, so why make himself less natty when it wouldn’t help any?

They found a spot at a self-park lot down the street from the Cloud Gate, and just in the nick of time. Hunk took the second to last spot, and a green car shimmied after them and across the aisle into the very last spot. Three other cars circled the lot and exited, beeping their horns and hollering out their windows as they went.

Two chestnut-haired kids who had to be related to each other poured out of the front of the green car, and hello. Who was this vision in red, black and white easing out of the backseat and making Lance flash on an Aretha Franklin song? The boy was hip hop from the neck down and classic rock from the chin up, but even that terrible haircut couldn’t disguise the pretty. So much pretty, wasted on a boy who didn’t know that mullets were over. What a travesty.

“Are you going to get out of the car, or are you going to keep staring in the rearview mirror?” Hunk tapped the steering wheel, watching Lance expectantly.

“I’m just appraising the competition.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s appraise him on the move.”

They joined the throng of humanity crossing Michigan Avenue to get to the park. As they waited for the signal at the crosswalk, Lance crossed gazes with the mullet-haired beauty from the green car. It was hard to tell for sure with the sun in his face, but the other boy’s eyes looked a deep blue nearing purple, like the sky at dusk. He had fair, even skin and sharp, fine features. His hair was thick, black, shiny and unruly. And his heart-shaped mouth was fixed in a frown.

The signal changed and Lance lost sight of the other boy in the crowd.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith hustled across the street, eager to forget the lake blue stare of the boy with sunrise skin. He looked like an adult contemporary album cover, and now “Thunder Island” was queued up on Keith’s mental playlist and he couldn’t turn it off.

Matt jogged up alongside of him. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Do you want to?” Pidge scooted up on the other side.

“No.” What kind of dweeb wears a Catholic school uniform to a dance audition anyway?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“No joyriding,” Lotor told the valet at the club as he dropped the keys of the Boxster in his sweaty hands. “I’ll find out.” Then he swept off down the street to the pub where he told Roy Throk to meet him.

He found his beefcake on the patio enjoying a Bellini. Lotor stopped on the sidewalk a moment to admire him: six foot two of carved muscle, with designer stubble on his chiseled jaw, and his hair in a trendy textured crop. Between the two of them they’d make the judges cream.

Throk looked up and spotted Lotor, and offered that easy smile that had first caught his attention weeks ago. Lotor would never forget the way he’d introduced himself with that smile. (“Name’s Throk. Rhymes with cock.”) And then he’d wiggled it, just a little bit. It was a magical moment.

Lotor sauntered over to pay the tab.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Pritzker Pavilion was packed with people, spilling past the seats and onto the Great Lawn. A stressed out looking production assistant standing downstage in a DTV t-shirt with a mic in his hand loomed large on a screen set upstage. The PA tapped the mic on his chest. A fuzzed out thump resounded out of the speakers on the trellis over the lawn.

_“Good, this thing works. If you’re here to compete, I need you to come to the orchestra pit to register. You will be given a number. Pin this number to your shirt and do not lose it. If you’re here to support your friend who is here to compete, that’s great! Stay out of the pit and off the stage. Thank you for your cooperation.”_

After a hug from Hunk (who gave awesome hugs), Lance elbowed his way into the line of contestants trying to get into the pit to get registered. Looking around, he was somewhat gratified to see he wasn’t even close to being the most inappropriately dressed person there. He was just one of the squarest. But if he couldn’t shake what his Mamá gave him even in slacks and a tie then he didn’t deserve to be called a Martinez.

He struck up a conversation with a couple in matching moon boots and jumpsuits while waiting in line. They had driven all the way across state lines for a chance to audition. This competition was going to be fierce, which was just the way he liked it.

Finally he made it to a registration table where he was given a number 514 to pin to his chest and invited to rest his dogs with the other singles sitting house right. Who should he spot with a 505 on his chest but the mullet mangón, leaning on a concrete barrier instead of fidgeting in a chair like the all the normal antsy people. Hot damn, he was single!

Mullet Mangón looked up as Lance approached – wow, his eyes really were Liz Taylor purple – and then he pushed himself off the barrier and threw himself into an aisle seat with no open seats around him. He crossed his arms and legs and glared off into the middle distance, clear ‘leave me alone’ body language. Fine. Lance could take a hint. Maybe there was a good reason that asshole was single.

Lance dropped down into the nearest seat to him, next to a lantern-jawed guy in a letterman jacket who was sprawled out with his feet on the armrest of the seat in front of him.

Lantern-jaw offered Lance a hand and a grin. “Name’s Rolo. Meetcha.”

“Lance. Nice to meet you too.” He accepted the handshake and grinned back.

Lance always ran his mouth when he was low-key nervous, so he and Rolo got to chatting. Rolo was a track and field star from a local magnet high school, and he knew Mullet Mangón, at least by reputation. “Kim? Yeah he’s always been grouchy. Heard he went all fast and the furious on some dude in the parking lot at school last year.” Rolo played guitar in a band; most of their gigs were coffee shops, Mom and Pops and college parties, but they’d started sending out a demo and he was really excited about it.

Lance began to relax a little, and then sat higher in his chair when he spotted the owner of a familiar head of ginger hair ambling in their direction. “Holy cats, is that Coran?”

“Yep. He’s a Co-Producer, so he’s going to be one of the judges today.”

“How’s he going to pair us off, do you think?”

“By whatever makes the best TV. I heard a rumor they’ll be editing together some outtakes from today to air right before the televised competition.”

Coran looked cool as sherbet in a blue blazer over white cotton and cream twill. The harried production assistant from earlier trotted after him, clipboard in hand.

“Listen up, dance contestants! I’ll be pairing you off together, and Mr. Hill here will jot you down on his chart. Don’t worry if you are paired with an incompatible dancer, you’ll be judged on your own merits, and re-paired if you make the cut but your partner doesn’t. I am an excellent matchmaker, if I do say so myself, so I’m confident you’ll be matched with a winner first try!

“Now let’s see here… hipster and hippie chick, pair up!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Not the school uniform kid… Not the school uniform kid…

Keith eyed the competition with narrowed eyes and abated breath. So far Coran’s picks seemed rather eccentric. A girl in toe shoes with a guy carrying a pogo stick, a guy in tap shoes with another guy wearing a bell sleeve tunic, and like that. He wasn’t even asking anyone what dance styles they identified with.

“Skater boy!”

It took someone tapping Keith’s shoulder to realize Coran was talking to him.

“Me?”

“Yes yes, quite the insouciant look you’ve got going on here. Who can we pair you with?”

Keith watched the man’s eyes slide over the section where school uniform kid was canoodling with that jock Rolo, then slide back, mustache quivering anticipatively.

“No!”

“But I haven’t even said anything yet.” Coran’s expression turned thoughtful.

“I don’t want to be paired up with someone who can’t keep up with me.” Keith heard a squeal of indignation and resisted the urge to look over and see who it was.

Red eyebrows shot up. “Well then, I guess we’ll have to pair you with a pro. Ginger darling, are you here?”

“Here!” A cute blonde in blue and white spandex stood up and raised her hand.

“Lovely to see you, as always. Come here please and stand next to contestant 505.”

She did. She was about half a head shorter than Keith. She twinkled up at him perkily.

“Excellent! Ginger has been to many of our auditions and knows what’s the what. You’re in competent hands with her.”

Whatever. As long as she didn’t embarrass him on stage he didn’t care.

“Now then! Onwards to the next pair! Friederich Von Trapp and Keanu in Rush Rush, go!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

So Lance was paired with Rolo, which he didn’t mind at all. No, what he minded was the insinuation that he couldn’t keep up with an emo blockhead. He’d show that comemierda.

But first he had to figure out what he was going to do with Rolo. In all their gossiping, they had not discussed dance styles at all.

“Oh I like swing, line dancing, two-step, some house.”

Lance could definitely work with that. “Ever do any Salsa?”

“Only a couple times, but if you want to freestyle, I’ll try to keep up.” Rolo winked.

Lance threw back his head and laughed. Emo comemierda turned away from whatever he was discussing with the blonde girl just to scowl at him. Lance sneered right back.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“They always let the already matched pairs go first. And they _always_ use “Dancing in the Street,” you just won’t know which version until they start playing it.”

Ginger was quite the wealth of knowledge on what to expect from a DTV audition.  This was because Ginger had been on quite a few DTV auditions. She’d never made it to finals.

“But today’s the day, I just know it!” She playfully punched Keith’s arm. It was a solid punch that actually kind of hurt.

This gave him an idea. “You ever do any martial arts?”

“Tae Bo!” she chirped. “I’m on the advanced level.”

He could work with that.

Someone nearby pealed out a laugh that tugged at Keith’s attention. It was that stupid kid in the uniform again. Why was he so obnoxious? Keith glared his displeasure. The stupid kid glared back.

It was ON.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance hopped in place to the beat, absorbing it into the soles of his feet. It was “Dancing in the Street” but he had never heard this version before. He didn’t even recognize the voice of the female singer. The tempo was faster than the original recording by Martha and the Vandellas, and the feel was electro, with a very prominent bass line.

Three couples had gone up so far, including the moon boots duo. They were good, but Lance still felt confident in his chances.

Another couple took the stage, and these two guys were seriously hot. One guy was built like a brick shithouse, and the other had platinum blond hair down to his bubble butt. Blondie did a chaines into an axel turn out to center stage, his mostly loose hair flying out around him like a flaxen fan. Brick Shithouse did a barrel roll into neutral position, and then Blondie ran at him flat out. Brick Shithouse caught him by the hips and pulled him up into an overhead lift with ridiculous ease. Blondie grabbed Brick Shithouse by the shoulders and pushed himself up into a freaking handstand. Brick Shithouse then turned them in a slow circle with a magnificent tensing of – well, everything.

“Sweet jumping Jehosaphat.”

Rolo looked at Lance with a bit of panic in his eyes. “I know, right? Gonna warn you right now, I’m strong enough to swing you around but I don’t think I could lift you into a handstand for that long without straining something or dropping you.”

“Duly noted.” Lance wasn’t sure he could hold Rolo over his head for any length of time either. It had simply been too long since he’d partnered overhead lifts, and he’d never partnered someone who outweighed him before. But it did give him an idea. “Think you could throw me into some flips and walkovers?”

Rolo brightened. “Sure, as long as we’re not talking any extended lifts, I’ll throw you all across that stage.”

Lance grinned back at him. “That’d be bitchin.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

So far none of the already paired dancers were remotely threatening to Keith. If anything, bringing a partner seemed to have given them false confidence. Sure, the blond guy and his muscle-bound third leg displayed impressive stamina and control, but they weren’t showing the judges anything new. Besides, when the blond guy was upside down and his hair was cascading down the other guy’s back, it looked like a photobomb trying to happen.

“Oh wow.” Ginger looked worried for the first time since he’d met her. “Lotor Drule is here. He’s good, too. Geez.”

Drule? Shit. Keith knew that name, knew his father was ruthless and very well connected. Connected enough to push him through over better candidates? No, no, Keith wasn’t going to think about it. He was going to dance his fucking ass off, and if Lotor Drule had a hidden edge then at least Keith would have the satisfaction of making him eat his heart out first.

“He’s not better than us. Right?”

Ginger nodded shakily.

“Hey, we worked out a routine.” Sort of. “Nobody will expect what we’re doing.” He was sure of that after what he’d already seen.

“Yeah, but that guy lifted Lotor upside down like it was nothing. He didn’t even pull his hair by accident, and that’s a lot of hair.”

Okay, that was a little intimidating. “Will it make you feel better if I lift you?”

Ginger turned wide eyes on Keith. “You can do that?”

“Sure.” He could bench press his own body weight easily; surely he could lift this slip of a girl who conveniently wore her hair in a short curly bob. “Piece of cake.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Contestants 403 and 514, you’re up!”

“That’s us.” Lance felt the butterflies take wing in his solar plexus.

Rolo grabbed his hand. “Let’s do this.”

And then he was leading Lance onto the stage in a Lindy Hop; Lance laughed in breathless delight as he was swung around by hands and hips. By the time Rolo threw him into the first flip his nerves were forgotten.

When Rolo pulled Lance closer into some Balboa footwork, he decided to test the boy’s earlier assertion that he could follow, and tapped his shoulder in their prearranged cue to switch leads. Rolo nodded, and Lance executed a cross body lead for Salsa.

Rolo followed well, but it quickly became clear he was a little out of his comfort zone. There was too much bounce in his step because his focus was more on footwork than his hips, and Salsa was all about the hips.

Time to switch it up before the judges noticed. He tapped Rolo’s shoulder again and got a grateful if somewhat rueful smile. Rolo brought him into a side cuddle position and threw him into a back flip and a throw out.

Feeling pure joy in the music, Lance leapt into a jazz split while Rolo did the Loose Legs off to the side. As he rolled back to his feet, Lance saw the PA signaling their time was up.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith watched the school uniform kid rollick across the stage like a hyperactive cat and had to admit to himself: that little fucker could dance. Rolo wasn’t too shabby either, although he wasn’t as good at isolations as his dance partner. Keith wondered where a kid who dressed like a fine upstanding young man learned to move his hips like that.

“505 and 304, you’re up!”

Ginger grabbed Keith’s hands, closed her eyes, breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled noisily through her mouth.

“Remember, we got this,” he told her.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thanks Jeff.”

“My name’s Keith.”

But she was already in a jazz run out to center stage before he was even done talking. He sighed and ran into an aerial cartwheel to meet her.

Side by side, they opened on the punches, jabs and hooks they had agreed on, followed by front and side kicks.

Then they faced each other and launched into a Wu Tang battle. Keith had discovered within five seconds of a frantic practice run with Ginger that she could mimic just about everything he did as long as she could mirror him. It was when they weren’t facing each other that she had trouble replicating his moves. They cycled through Happy Feet and Dougie before the bass and the drums took over his pulse and he was Bopping.

He did a jump out into a helicopter kick and spun out into Meia Lua Reversao. He moved onto air flares and then dropped into some windmills. By the time he did a kip-up back onto his feet it was to discover Ginger doing Dig ‘em Steps and the PA frantically trying to wave them off the stage.

Well that PA was just going to have to wait a minute, because he’d promised this girl a lift, and he was going to deliver. He widened his stance and waved at Ginger in what he hoped was communicating to come hither.

Ginger brightened and ran at him like Baby in Dirty Dancing. Keith only had another split second to brace himself. Holy hell, he’d thought he’d be picking her up from a stationary position but here was her full weight coming at him at fifteen miles an hour!

He caught her by the hips, and while she wasn’t heavier than his maximum weight level at the gym she was ungainly to lift. People, as it turned out, were not like dumbbells. People flailed when hoisted in the air. It would have never occurred to Keith that long hair getting in the way was the last thing he needed to be worried about. Getting accidentally kicked in a soft spot became a much more urgent concern, and he absolutely did not squawk in a moment of terror (and if he did, it was completely manly and justified). He bench pressed her like a boss, and once she got her bearings she bowed her body above him like she was trying to achieve Locust Pose.

Clapping burst out from the wings. It was Coran waggling his eyebrows, and beside him the PA was hunting in his fanny pack, probably for a whistle.

It was time to set Ginger down so the next couple could get their turn. Normally he’d lower the dumbbells to shoulder height and then drop them to the ground, but Keith wasn’t sure dropping Ginger from shoulder height was a great idea. Instead, he lowered her into a fireman’s carry and walked off stage.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance wasn’t sure what he’d just seen. Mullet Mangón had erupted onto the stage in a flurry of martial arts moves and transitioned seamlessly into club and street moves, culminating in one of the most athletic bboy performances Lance had ever seen in person. It was so mesmerizing Lance had momentarily forgotten that the guy had gone onstage with a partner. And then, he reminded everybody with the most hilarious attempt at a lift Lance had ever witnessed. It was giving him cognitive dissonance.

“Did you see that too?”

“If you mean Kim smoking every other dancer here and then that goofy shit right at the end, yes I did.” Rolo looked as confounded as Lance felt. “What the hell was that?”

“I think it was supposed to be a swan lift?”

Mullet Mangón himself joined the rest of the group waiting house right with a dazed expression on his face. Lance caught his eye and mouthed, “What the fuck?” Mullet Mangón (that was his name forevermore, don’t care what his momma called him) glared daggers across the room.

Lance hoped Hunk had gotten some of that with his phone’s camera. He would have called him to ask, but phones had been banned past registration, so he’d had to leave his in Hunk’s capable hands. He tried to convince himself it was only the lift fail part that he wanted, and not the incredible moves that had come before it.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith wondered what he could bribe Pidge with to persuade them to delete the audition footage from their phone. He had a bad feeling he didn’t have anything Pidge wanted as badly as they wanted to laugh at that video file until the end of days. He sat lower in his seat and stewed until Coran loped out to center stage to announce the finalists.

Seven pairs would be going on to compete on live TV. Not all of the pairs would have arrived as pairs, so Coran announced them by individual contestant numbers. The cosplayers made it through. Also the Youtube ringers, and the couple who looked like brother and sister but weren’t. Keith’s lip curled when Lotor Drule and his partner were announced.

_“514!”_

Huh. School uniform kid.

_“403!”_

And Rolo. Well, he wasn’t bad.

_“505!”_

Holy shit.

_“304!”_

“Holy cow, Jeff we made it!” Ginger grabbed Keith’s arm and jumped up and down.

“My name’s Keith!”

“Right, Keith, we made it!” Keith let her drag him up on stage to join the others. After them, Coran called on the punk rock chick with the long purple braid, and the performance artist sporting the short pastel green ‘do.

Coran let them all stand up there shell-shocked for a round of applause before hustling them down into the pit to give them their marching orders.

“We’ve got rehearsal space rented for you at a studio on Milwaukee. I’ll pass out their brochure and the schedule in just a tick of the clock. You’ll need to run your costumes by Mr. Hill for approval by the end of the month. Licensed characters might be a no-go, so if that was your plan have a backup option ready. We’re still ironing out the rights to the song we want to use, but we hope to email you the music file before your first scheduled practice session.

“There’s just one thing I need to do first.” Coran tapped his chin as he looked up and down the line of dancers. “You and you, switch places.”

Rolo and Ginger traded confused glances, but did as instructed, leaving Rolo standing next to Keith, and Ginger standing next to the school uniform kid. School uniform kid aimed finger guns at Ginger, which was just about the corniest thing ever. Ginger giggled.

Coran looked them over, running his hand over their heads to compare height.

“No, no that’s not quite right. You, and you, switch places.”

Now Rolo was standing with Ginger, and school uniform kid was…

“Oh no, nonono, nope. Not dancing with the mullet.”

“There’s no way I’m dancing with you either.” Keith folded his arms.

The PA pulled out his clipboard. “Want me to cut ‘em?”

“No Gazriel, let’s not be hasty. Carry on with the rehearsal schedules. I’ll catch these two up later. 514 and 505, step over here with me please.”

Keith and the school uniform kid glowered at each other as they followed Coran out of the pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> la Virgen de la Caridad Del Cobre - Our Lady of Charity, patron saint of Cuba whose feast day is also celebrated by the diaspora.
> 
> mangón - Literal translation is the masculine form of 'mango' but in Cuban slang it is equivalent to calling a guy a hottie.
> 
> comemierda - Literal translation is 'shit eater.' In Cuban slang it is usually used where an English speaker might use 'dumbass.'
> 
>  
> 
> I don't think I'll be able to maintain updates quite as fast as today, but whenever I have a couple of hours free I will post, since the work is basically finished and just needs final edits and formatting fixes.


	3. Can you hear me now callin' your name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude in which Keith catches Shiro up on things and then interrupts Lance's 'me' time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos, you guys are the best! :) 
> 
> "Now I know how Joan of Arc felt as the flames rose to her Roman nose and her Walkman started to melt" - Bigmouth Strikes Again, performed by The Smiths

 

Coran led Keith and the other guy into the wings where the DTV crew was putting away sound equipment.

“Now what seems to be the problem here?”

“He’s obnoxious.”

“He’s a jerk!”

“He looks like a choir boy.”

“I am a choir boy! And your lift was the epic fail of the day, Mr. Nobody Can Keep Up With Me!”

They were all up in each other’s personal space now. School uniform kid’s eyes were like storm clouds crackling with lightning under the backstage blue LEDs.

“Alright that’s enough.” Coran gave them both a stern look. “What are your names?”

“I’m Keith Kim.”

“Lance Cárdenas Martinez.”

“Mr. Kim, Mr. Martinez, let me tell you what I see. Aside from you standing too close to each other with balled up fists, stop that immediately.”

They separated, reluctantly.

“Thank you. I see a great deal of combustible chemistry. Don’t interrupt! You can make that work for you in front of a TV camera. You know, many of the most beloved screen couples of all time fought like razorbacks behind the scenes.”

“So you want to edit us into some kind of ‘behind the scenes’ web series for the show?” Keith turned to leave. “That’s it. I only came here to dance.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Coran held his arm out to block Keith’s exit. “I wasn’t finished! Not that a web series isn’t a smashing idea, why didn’t I think of that? Ah well, that’s not the point. The point is, you, Mr. Kim are an exceptional dancer. One of the best I’ve ever auditioned. But you’re not very tuned into your partner.”

Keith glared at his feet. “Yeah I know. I fucked up Ginger’s lift. Is that all?”

“No, that’s not it at all. The fact that you remembered to do something for her saved you from being cut.”

Keith gawped at Coran. “Wh-what?”

“Yes, I was almost ready to cut you, regrettable as that would have been, but you risked the integrity of your individual performance to give her the lift you had promised her whilst you were backstage watching the others.”

He had heard that? He must have rubber soles on those loafers, because Keith hadn’t noticed him at all.

“But, what did I do wrong before that?”

“It’s what you didn’t do that was the problem. You started out well, but partway in you forgot you had a partner. You left her twisting in the wind for two minutes before you remembered she was there. You were fantastic, by the way, but you weren’t dancing as a pair for most of the time you were out there.”

“I thought we were being judged on our own merits?”

“You are. However, part of that is down to how you work as a team. You have to remember that you have a partner. This is pas de deux, not a solo competition.

“Which brings me to you, Mr. Martinez.”

“Me?” Martinez put a hand to his chest. “I’m teamwork personified. Call me Esprit de Corps!”

“I’d much rather call you Lance. And you’ve brought up precisely my point: you’re too generous a partner.”

“Come again?”

“If you watch the show, then I’m sure you’re aware that we use quite a lot of sensual choreography in our numbers.”

Lance’s golden skin flushed an intriguing shade of dark peach. “I’m aware.”

“And although you and contestant 403 showed marvelous energy together out on the floor, you weren’t really showing us how you might handle that choreography. You started to, but when it became clear that your partner wasn’t keeping up you let him take the lead again.”  

“But, I thought being in sync was the goal?”

“It is, but you cannot allow your own quintessence to be subsumed by your partner’s. Your personality needs to shine through, even when you are working as half of a pair. Showing charisma is especially important given whom you’d be replacing. We replace pairs on this show every year or so, but this is the first time we’ve replaced a pair with the star wattage to gain their own name recognition.”

“If that’s the case, why is Rolo still in the game?” Keith surprised even himself by asking. But damn it, he really wanted to know, because he agreed that Rolo’s dance style didn’t seem like a natural fit to the show.

Coran sighed. “Because another judge insisted. She found him charmingly retro and was able to persuade others to her view.”

“And Ginger?”

“Sentimental judges. They gave her bonus points for contending with a rogue partner. You’ve got to understand, Ginger’s been on so many auditions now she’s practically family. Some of the crew even attended her high school commencement.”

“Wait a minute.” Lance gasped. “Did you… did you bargain for us?”

Coran’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “I believe you two have as good a chance as any of those yobos to win this competition. You balance each other. And, I believe you incite such emotion in each other that there’s no chance you’ll forget each other onstage or permit yourselves to be upstaged. Not as you did with your previous partners.”

Keith’s lips peeled in a sharp grin. “He’s got a point.”

Lance smirked back. “Alright Mullet, if you’re in then I’m not backing down.”

Son of a bitch. “My name’s Keith.”

“Splendid!” Coran put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Now let’s rejoin Mr. Hill and conclude our business for the day, shall we? And as long as we’re going over costumes, Lance, we really do need to discuss your sartorial choices.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Fresh off a win with Mullet Mangón walking next to him, Lance was in a reverie when they emerged from the pit. Hunk’s beautiful face was waiting for him with a grin and a bottle of orange soft drink.

“Thought you could use this.”

“You are so awesome. Offer to bear your children still stands. Don’t count me out just because I don’t have ovaries, I would find a way just for you, Hunkaroo.”

“Aw, Lance. You know I’m saving myself for my lady.”

“We need your digits.” One of Keith’s friends with the messy chestnut hair, the shorter one, barged on over with an LG phone that was covered in smudged fingerprints. “Just the digits, no babies or baby making required.”

Hunk snatched it out of their hands as they passed by him, ignoring Keith’s outraged shout. “Hey this thing has NFC, right? Cool, so does Lance’s.” Then Hunk ignored Lance’s outraged shout as he pulled out the Samsung, opened contacts and touched the phones back to back.

“Thanks man.” Hunk and the messy-haired shorty high-fived.

Introductions were made on the way back to the parking lot. Mullet Mangón’s – no, Keith’s (this was going to be hard) friends were Pidge and Matt Holt. By the time they reached the crosswalk, Hunk, Pidge and Matt were planning a long and fruitful friendship together while Keith and Lance followed grumpily in their wake.

Hunk’s happily-ever-after with the Holt sibs was nearly ruined by vehicular homicide, as a cherry red sports car ignored the Walk sign, taking a right on red at ludicrous speed and forcing everybody to leap for the sidewalk.

“Rude!” Lance was fuming.

Pidge raised their middle fingers high in the air. Well, as high in the air as they’d go. “Normal speed meets every need, asshole!”

“Sorry!” hollered the driver, who was clearly not sorry. His passenger was laughing like he’d dropped a witty takedown worthy of Dorothy Parker. The driver’s long blond hair rippled out behind him as they disappeared around another corner.

“Fucking Drule!” Keith snarled.

“Where?” Lance checked his mouth with his fingers.

“Lotor Drule,” Pidge corrected him.

“You know that guy?” Hunk was patting himself down as if to make sure all his body parts were still where he remembered leaving them

“More like we know of him.” Matt looked grave. “His father is the CEO of GALRA.”

GALRA, as in General Applied and Licensed Robotics and Aeronautics? “They’re funding a study my cousin is working on.” Lance could see the chances of Allura not hearing about his continued involvement in the contest dwindling rapidly.

“Keith’s brother works for them too.”

Troglodyte Keith ignored the Holts’ engraved invitation to open up about himself. The two groups parted with a promise to follow up on practice sessions; and possibly a science experiment, Lance wasn’t paying attention to that last part.

He felt like he’d left his stomach behind in the pavilion as he wondered how in hell he was going to keep the contest hidden from Allura long enough to see it through to the end.

Especially since he was going to have to get someone to sign his release form.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith jogged up the steps to the bungalow he shared with Shiro in Albany Park. The stained glass window in the front door showed no light from within, which meant Shiro wasn’t home.

Keith toed off his shoes in the foyer and stepped onto the front room carpet. The sweet musky scent of recently burned incense still lingered in the air, so Shiro had come home at some point and then left again. Keith flipped on a floor lamp and tossed his jacket on the ancient corduroy couch. He moseyed through the dining room they both used as an office and into the tile and oak kitchen where they usually ate, and popped his head into the fridge.

Within he found a nearly demolished olive loaf, a brick of provolone in similar condition, an assortment of condiments of questionable vintage, a half eaten carton of take-out, two and a half six packs of lychee pop, and the same four bottles of Zombie Dust that had been languishing at the back of the middle shelf for weeks. It was time to visit the market again. Would Shiro even notice if one of those beers disappeared?

Keith turned away from the fridge with a bottle raised to his lips, the taste of citrusy hops on his tongue.

“I take it that’s for me?”

Keith snorted beer out of his nose. “Shiro! I mean, yes!” The man should wear a damn bell. “I was tasting it for you. You know, in case it had gone flat.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

Keith handed over the beer without offering any more excuses. Shiro looked like he needed it more than Keith right then anyway.

Shiro had been a test pilot for GALRA for six years, taking the job after choosing a Dependency Discharge so he could come home and take care of Keith when Halmoni died. The work was lucrative enough to save the house Keith had inherited, but it was also dangerous. Shiro had survived a crash that had broken his right arm in several places. He’d made a full recovery according to the doctors, but he still had achy days where he’d wear his compression sleeve all day under his clothes. Today was one of those days.

“How about I fix us something for dinner, you can take a load off,” Keith offered.

Shiro gave Keith a highly skeptical look. “I’m going to take you up on that, because I am wild with curiosity about what you plan to do with the contents of our fridge.”

“Don’t forget the pantry.” He didn’t mention the freezer because they both knew what waited there like a horror movie prop: a suckling pig that Shiro had bought from Costco on a whim and neither of them had the nerve to try to cook.

The pantry yielded cereal (too bad there was no milk), a few cans of vegetables, a nearly empty bag of crumbled chips, some 2-in-1 coffee, noodles, rice, canned tuna, why did they have no bread? Then lo and behold, he found a box of mac and cheese.

They didn’t have any milk or butter, but Keith didn’t let that stop him. He mixed the sauce using juice from a drained can of tuna, then stirred in the macaroni and flaked tuna and turned the glop out into a casserole dish. Then he topped it with grated provolone and the last of the crumbled potato chips and baked it until the cheese bubbled. Voila: frankenhotdish.

Keith plunked one of Halmoni’s prized trivets down on the Formica table and then plonked the casserole dish down on the trivet and called Shiro in.

Shiro looked more relaxed as he dropped into a vinyl chair. “Keith, you have exceeded my hopes.”

“Hardy har har.” Keith set out the place settings. “Have you no faith in my cooking skills?”

“That’s a loaded question I’m too hungry to answer.” Shiro held out his bowl. “Dish me up.”

They settled down to a companionable silence, and Keith was pleased to discover his gambit had paid off. The dish was a messterpiece flavored with the magic of desperate combinations. After a few minutes of contented chewing, Keith figured the time was right to bring up the release forms.

“So there’s this dance contest.”

Shiro blinked blankly at him. “Whu?”

“And I’m one of the finalists!”

“Congratulations.” Shiro leaned his elbows on the table. “What does this mean?”

“It means I have to dance with a moron, but I really want to do this.”

“Catch me up here, Keith.”

So Keith did, all of it, from Pidge’s challenge to getting paired up with a goofball who refused to call him by his proper name. Well, almost all of it. He might have glossed over the part where Drule’s son was also in the contest. Shiro was smiling that fond half-smile by the end. Even if he said no, being able to pull forth that smile was worth just about anything.

“Check me if I’m wrong, but this is sounding like a potential career move.”

“If I win the contest, yeah it would be.” Keith fiddled with his napkin. “And if I don’t, I can still talk to the recruiter.”

“You know I just want you to be happy, right kiddo?” Shiro leaned across the table looking very earnest. “No matter what job you choose.”

“I know.” And nothing would make Keith happier than not having to be a burden anymore so that Shiro could finally quit his terrible job.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance had sweet talked his way into being allowed a dip in Allura’s slipper bathtub. He had a pretty cool tile shower in his own bathroom, but there was nothing like a long soak in a tub after being on his feet for hours. Helping himself to Allura’s bath cubes made it even more hedonistic. He leaned back enjoying the scented steam, his knees poking out above the silky bubbles.

On the zen stool beside him, his phone beeped out the generic ring tone.

“Aww, I just got comfy.” Lance reached a hand out of the foam and tilted up the screen. It was Keith. Of course it was. That boy’s timing was only good on the dance floor.

“What?”

_“Where are you? You sound weird.”_

“Yeah? Well your face is weird.”

There was an emo sigh. _“I was calling to see if you wanted to meet up tomorrow to talk about our routine.”_

“We don’t get to use the practice space until Monday.”

_“That doesn’t mean we can’t practice outside the studio, you know.”_

That was true. And smart. There was just one problem. “I’ve got Mass tomorrow.”

_“Can’t you skip it?”_

“Do you even know what you’re asking me right now?”

Allura would roast him alive and serve him with a side order of mashed Lance if he ditched the first Sunday Mass after the feast day for Our Lady of Charity of El Cobre. Then his mother would cross the ocean to make Lance flambé for dessert. Lance personally considered himself lapsed, but thinking of his mother participating in the same celebrations made him feel connected to her, enough so to overcome some of his personal reservations.

Besides, he could never forget the hair-raising stories Tata and Tito used to tell about the years before the restrictions had been lifted. Sometimes simply knowing there had been a time they’d wanted to attend but couldn’t was enough to motivate him to go and light a candle in their name. He had never had an in-depth discussion with Allura about it, but he was pretty sure she kept going for similar reasons.

_“Fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”_

“Excuse you, my panties don’t bunch whether I’m wearing them or not.”

_“That was way too much information. I’ll see you Monday.”_

That damn mullet-head interrupted his precious bath time and then hung up on him. Maybe he should use “Bigmouth Strikes Again” for Keith’s ringtone as an early warning system for the next time he called.

Lance programmed the ringtone and added a mango icon as Keith’s avatar.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Later that night in his bed, Keith stared at the crown molding on the ceiling and tried not to think too hard about Lance wearing panties underneath that school uniform.

Maybe they’d have lace on them.

Nope, not thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pas de deux - dance of two
> 
> Halmoni - Korean name for grandma


	4. Activate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance meet up for their first practice and the sparks fly. Lotor shows a hint of his menacing side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, Season 3 had been announced but it hadn't aired yet, so I was using original Lotor as a baseline for his character. Original flavor Lotor was a libertine, and that's putting it mildly (he was even worse in Go Lion). When I finally got to see the awesome Lotor we got for VLD I reworked aspects of his character for this AU, but he is still not a nice guy in this. I don't think I need to put a trigger warning up yet? But we're getting closer to that point.
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos and comments, you guys are making my day!
> 
> "You and me together nothing gets better 'cause there's a side to you that I never knew" - Set Fire to the Rain, performed by Adele

 

“Are we meeting up tonight, or what?” Keith leaned against his locker, ignoring the blatant curiosity of the Holt siblings two lockers down.

_“Yes I’ll meet you at the studio.”_ Lance’s voice sounded strained. _“Hunk’s going to cover for me. It’s just; I might have a tiny little problem.”_

“I don’t need to hear about your panties.”

_“What? First of all, that problem is not tiny, thank you very much. Second, what?! Third, it’s nothing to do with that, cabrón.”_

Keith turned and banged his forehead on the steel locker door. If it had been difficult avoiding the mental image before, it was damn near impossible now. “Why are you like this?”

_“I have no idea what you’re insinuating. You’re the one obsessed with my panties.”_

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith could see a grin on Pidge’s face that boded ill for his future quietude.

“Just meet me at the dance studio at five, okay?” He hung up the phone and discovered Pidge had snuck into his personal space like a Weeping Angel. “Gah!”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s just such a weirdo.”

Pidge gave him a pitying look. “His panties are only weird if you make it weird.”

“We are not having this conversation.” Keith hunched his shoulders and speed walked down the hall.

Was it possible that Lance shaved…?

_♫ Sha la la la la la my baby in the sun with your clothes undone… ♫_

Nope, not thinking about it.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

That infuriating bastardo insulted his manhood and then hung up on him _again_. Lance stared at the “call ended” on his phone. If Howlers were real, he’d send one to Keith right now. He turned to Hunk for commiseration and found himself on the receiving end of a considering look.

“Dude’s contemplating your underwear, are you sure you’re okay alone with him?”

They were leaned up together against the side of Hunk’s car, polishing off the last of the french fries from an illicit visit to the burger joint down the block. They weren’t supposed to leave campus during lunch hour, but there were only so many consecutive days of the cafeteria a growing boy could tolerate.

Lance rolled his eyes. “I don’t think he wants to get in my pants.”

“I don’t know man, I’m getting a vibe. An angry lust kind of vibe.”

“I thought you liked his friends?”

“I do, I do. People can get weird about sexual attraction sometimes though, and even if you’re friends you don’t always see it coming.”

Ah-ha. “I sense a story behind that statement.”

Hunk blushed adorably. “Well, remember how I told you about my friend that I’d like to be my girlfriend?”

“Yeah?”

“I was friends with her brother first.”

Yahtzee. “Did he bust out the shovel talk?”

“No, he didn’t even ask me what my intentions were. He just accused me of trying to despoil his sister and tried to banish me from his house.”

“Tried?” Lance munched a french fry.

“Her parents and grandma still like me. And Shay of course.” More blushing. “She likes me.”

Lance’s own sisters would kick his ass for trying to interfere with a date. In addition to that, he knew that if his mother liked a boy any of his sisters were interested in then the rest of the family had better fall in line. Something was off, here.

“How come he overreacted? Did he catch you guys getting busy?”

“What?” Hunk looked genuinely affronted. “No! I respect Shay far too much to get busy! Unless, you know, she wants to get busy, but we’ve never been alone together long enough to have that conversation.”

“Sorry big guy, no disrespect meant. You think maybe he had a crush on you?”

“Rax? No, he’s straight as a ruler.”

That guy! “Think maybe he’s just mean? ‘Cause he spent all twenty minutes of choir practice on Saturday trying to glare a hole in my head.”

Hunk picked at his sleeves woefully. “He probably did that because you’re friends with me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s done it before.”

And suddenly Lance had a glimmer of understanding as to how a great guy like Hunk had lots of friendly acquaintances at school, but no other close friends. He couldn’t say he’d paid a whole lot of attention to the social set at St. Mark in the short time he’d been there, but he had noticed that Rax was kind of a big man on campus as the quarterback on the football team and sergeant at arms on the student council. If a guy like that wanted to isolate someone, it probably wouldn’t take much effort. It must be a testament to Hunk’s pure likeability that he wasn’t an outright pariah at school.

“Were you close friends?”

Hunk frowned at the gravel pavement. “I thought we were.”

Something was still not adding up. Some brotherly over-protectiveness was natural, but Hunk was the gold standard for the kind of guy you hoped your sister would pick for a boyfriend. Even Shay’s parents approved and it’s not like Hunk was a stranger to the family. Rax’s behavior smacked of something more personal to him, some sort of fear. But what could he be afraid of?

“Maybe you should invite me along the next time you visit with Shay. I’ll be your buffer if Rax shows up.” And maybe find out what was up.

“You don’t have to do that Lance.” The hopeful look on Hunk’s face belied the words coming out of his mouth.

“It’s just being a good friend,” Lance smiled.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Hunk dropped Lance off with a promise to return in a couple of hours with some drive thru. Lance texted Allura that he was spending the evening studying with Hunk, so at least tonight the subterfuge shouldn’t get him in trouble.

Keith was already in the practice room with a red duffle over his arm and a cross look on his face. And that thing on his head masquerading as hair. Lance kept expecting it to jump up and say “It’s a living.”

“You always gonna wear that?” The mullet-head gestured at Lance’s uniform, as if that were the most offensive fashion choice in this room.

“Listen cheeseball, I have to sneak around behind my guardian’s back to do this, so until I’m able to filch some dance clothes into the trunk of Hunk’s car without her noticing, you’ll have to live with this outfit. But if it will make you happy, I’ll take some of it off.” Lance threw off his sweater and yanked off his tie and dress shirt, rucking up the undershirt which he left untucked. “There. Happy?”

“Sha la – fine.” Two spots of color as bright as Keith’s duffle dappled his cheekbones. Then he turned his back and stomped over to a bench against the far wall, setting his duffle down on it. “Coran sent us placeholder music because they’re still having trouble getting the rights for the song they want to use.” He pulled a portable Bluetooth speaker out of his bag.

“Yeah I got the same email you did.” Lance moved over to the barre and eased into a saddle stretch. He did need to sneak some better clothes into Hunk’s car ASAP, because these pants were really not designed for this range of movement.

Keith glanced over at him and grunted, and started some lunges before moving on to hamstring and hurdler stretches.

Lance surreptitiously peeked at him in the mirror. Those black joggers were showing off all the muscle groups. It was a damn shame about the personality.

Keith did a back handspring off the floor with the same effortless grace he’d displayed during the audition, sauntered over to the bench and fiddled with his phone and the speaker. A burst of synthwave burbled into the room as he turned to Lance, crooked his finger and said “Come here.”

Lance paused in a penchée. “Don’t I get a please?”

“Please.” He said it like it was the most tooth-gritting thing he’d ever had to say. It was music to Lance’s ears.

“Okay.” He straightened up and bounded over. “Now what, Emperor Bossypants?”

“Do this.” He started a basic touch step.

“Are you shitting me?”

“What, you can’t do it?” He didn’t stop the touch step, just kept on insulting Lance’s intelligence.

“Man, fuck you.” Lance copied the touch step perfectly in time.

“Why is it so hard to get you to follow?” Keith mixed in some slides.

“Why do you assume I’m going to agree to follow for the whole routine?” Lance kept time with him effortlessly.

“After the audition I just assumed that was your default setting.” Keith threw in some bounces and arm moves.

“¡Pinga!” He was pissed but he’d be damned before he gave Keith the satisfaction of seeing him lose the rhythm.

“What was that?” Keith went low.

“You know damn well I did that because Rolo wasn’t keeping up with me.” Lance dropped too. “What about you Keith? Can you isolate your hips?”

“What do you think?” Then the fucker fucking twerked.

The stony expression on Keith’s face was at complete odds with the irreverent move. It was just like his hairstyle: business in the front, party in the back. Lance couldn’t help it, he fell out laughing.

“Can’t do it?” Keith looked so smug.

Lance couldn’t let that go unchallenged.

“You need to let me lead.” Lance backed up on him with perreo.

“Shimatta!”

“What’s that Keith? Was that “Lance is awesome” in another language?” He knew it wasn’t, but irritating Keith gave him life.

Warm hands gripped Lance’s hips, whether to keep in place or ward off he couldn’t tell from this angle. He looked over his shoulder. The look on Keith’s face as he stared at Lance’s flexing ass sent the blood rushing to a very unprofessional place on Lance’s body. It was a damn good thing that part was currently facing away from him.

“Excusez-moi.” The blond guy who nearly ran them over on Saturday lounged in the doorway to their practice room as if he’d wandered in off the set of an 80’s flick where he was playing the bad boy Molly Ringwald shouldn’t date. What was his name? Drool? No, Drule. “I was going to ask if you had change for a fifty, but I’m thinking about just tucking my whole wad in your pants after that little show.”

Talk about a boner killer. The guy was objectively hot, but vainglorious enough to cancel it right out. “This ass is on reserve. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Too bad.” Drule flicked his hair behind his shoulders. “I would have ruined it for all other men.” He swept out of the room like flatulence on a swift breeze.

“What a pompous blowhard.” Lance looked back at Keith expecting to see agreement, and found him staring at the now empty doorway with thunder in his eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fine.” Keith closed in on himself. “Let’s get back to work.”

The rest of the practice session consisted of Keith insisting on practicing street moves and refusing to humor Lance on letting him lead.

“Will you stop showing off?” Lance finally threw his hands up in frustration.

“I’ll let up when you start taking this seriously.”

“We’re supposed to be in this together! Or did you forget?”

“I wish I could forget.” Keith stormed over to the bench to turn off the music. “Time’s up.”

Lance picked up his discarded clothes and stalked out into the cool evening air to meet Hunk, unwilling to spend another moment breathing the same recirculated air as Keith Kim.

Hunk wasn’t waiting outside the studio yet, but a red phallic symbol was, with another phallus standing in front of it.

“What’s got you in a tizzy?” Drule smirked. “Bad rehearsal?”

Drule was throwing off a whiff of aggression under the smarm that put Lance on edge. “Listen, I just want to go home with my friend and try to relax, it’s been a long day.”

“Far be it from me to delay your chill.” Drule moved closer. Lance saw that he had some sort of stiff paper in his hand. “I only dawdled so I could invite you to a major event my club is hosting.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance resisted the urge to step back, instinctively understanding it would be interpreted as a sign of weakness from this one. “What’s the celebration?”

“Me.” Drule smiled showing teeth. “I’m being fêted by the men’s cotillion program. It’s a big deal.” He pressed the starched cotton stationery into Lance’s chest, let his hand linger until Lance took the invitation, then abruptly turned away and got into his car. “I understand if you have other commitments, but I sure hope you can come.” He knew where to put the emphasis to make that sound extra dirty. “Ciao.”

Lance balled the stationery up in his fist as he watched Drule drive away.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Come here.” Lance tried to capture the emo flavor of Keith’s general Keithness so that Hunk could appreciate it. “Do this.”

“You’ve said that three times now,” Hunk complained, but he was chuckling. “I know that wasn’t the only thing he said to you.”

“You’re right. He also mentioned his motorcycle a few times.” Thank God for a Hunk to rescue him from the vicinity of terrible men. They were nearing the greystone in Hunk’s car and Lance had to think up an excuse for why he was so rumpled, because Allura would notice, if she wasn’t holed up in her office. But first he wanted to make Hunk laugh to compensate for the general dickishness he’d had to endure for the past two hours.

If he was being perfectly honest, he was still a little bit rattled by his encounter with Drule.

“Dude, do you want me to come up with you?” Hunk pulled up to the curb in front of Lance’s building. “We can say I was helping you with a gymnastics routine.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I can handle Allura. See you tomorrow?”

“You bet.”

Lance waved as Hunk pulled away from the curb. He really did hope Allura was holed up in her office this time. He’d managed to avoid (or rather forget) discussing the release form with Keith, and he didn’t need that guilt in the back of his mind while trying to make excuses for his dishevelment when he faced his guardian.

Lance blessed his improving luck when he found Allura having one of her rare ‘trash TV and cabernet’ days in the living room, mellowed out on the couch in her well-worn Columbia University sweats.

“Hey you!” She aimed finger guns at Lance. “Come watch this show with me! You won’t believe what this descara'o just said, I swear.”

It was a red-letter day to find Allura in such a cuddly mood. Lance dropped his messenger bag where he stood and curled up on the velvet upholstery next to his cousin to settle in for an evening of delightfully tacky entertainment.

He never noticed the crumpled invitation fall out of his bag and roll over to rest against the curved walnut foot of the sofa.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

So what was the tiny problem if it wasn’t in his pants?

 

Staring at the text from Pidge, Keith realized he had forgotten to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cabrón - Literally means horny goat, is generally used as an insult to imply someone is thinking with their babymaking parts.
> 
> penchée - Ballet position that's basically doing the splits in arabesque. A lot of people will stretch before class in this position by bracing their raised leg against the mirror.
> 
> pinga - Vulgar term for penis, can be used as an exclamation or an insult, the specific intent depends a lot on tone and context. 
> 
> perreo - Reggaeton dance move that could be described as partnered twerking. One partner usually backs up on the other one, the backing-up partner being the twerker and in complete control of the situation.
> 
> shimatta - Japanese interjection used to convey an agitated sense of 'what have I done.' I liked the idea of Lance and Keith both being able to stealth swear in other languages, and when I thought of where Keith might have picked up his bad language in this AU, the most likely candidate was Shiro.
> 
> descara'o - Cuban slang for a shameless person.


	5. Can't take my eyes off of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance talks Hunk into going to the mall to get his flirt on with Shay. Keith, Pidge and Matt are there too. An invitation is found (again). Shenanigans are planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't you listen to what they told you because I love you, let me hold you." - from I Want Your Sex Part II, performed by George Michael

 

 

Hunk gripped Lance’s shoulders. “You’ve got to help me Lance, what do I say?”

“You say hi.” Lance had to wonder again what Rax was so worried about if this was the way Hunk always acted around his sister. “And then you let her take your order.”

They were enjoying an afternoon visit to the biggest outlet mall Lance had ever been in. He had expected some pushback from Allura when he’d brought Hunk over to introduce him/change into street clothes/sneak workout togs into his messenger bag to hide in Hunk’s trunk, but Allura had been strangely acquiescent, even mysteriously sly. She’d made Lance promise to buy a formal outfit and even transferred some money onto his prepaid debit card for the purchase, and that was it.

Maybe it was the Hunk effect. Nobody could resist that sincere face. Lance was partly visiting the mall to look for some items he could use for his dance costume, but mostly he had talked Hunk into coming here after finding out that Shay worked in the food court.

Approaching Shay at her place of work was a little outside Hunk’s comfort zone, but that needed to change if he ever wanted to ask her out on a real date. Lance glanced over to the vegetarian café where she stood behind the cash register. Oh yeah, she’d noticed Hunk was here, alright. She kept tucking the strands that had fallen out of her side buns behind her ears and she was blushing up a storm. Honestly, those two kids just needed to go steady already.

“C’mon big guy.” Lance pressed his hands behind Hunk’s shoulders and pushed. It was like pushing a boulder, but Hunk got the message and let Lance steer him over to where Shay waited in her green smock.

“Hi Hunk,” she smiled shyly, and Lance could see the appeal, with the big amber eyes and the sweet soprano voice. “Can I get you something?”

“Hi Shay.” Hunk was clearly besotted. “You can get me anything. I mean, anything that’s good. I mean, I trust your judgment. Completely.”

Good grief.

“The lemongrass soup is really good.” She was just as bad. “I just made it, so it’s fresh.”

“Okay.”

The whole rest of the interaction went the same way, the two of them in their own little adorkable world. Lance wasn’t sure Shay was even aware of his presence except as the recipient of the second order of soup. That turned out fortunately because it meant Lance spotted Rax before Hunk or Shay did. He left the counter to intercept Rax by the escalators.

“Hey MacCarrick.” Lance parked himself right in the football player’s path. “How’s school treating you? Had to knock any heads together in student council this week?”

Rax rocked back on his heels and stared down at Lance like a big dog stares down at a house cat. Up close, Lance could see he had the same amber eyes and russet widow’s peak as his sister, and also long sideburns. Lot of testosterone in a guy who could grow sideburns like that at their age. He might be handsome but it was hard to tell with that sour look on his face.

“Get out of my way Martinez.”

“Geez, good afternoon to you too. Manners, much?”

“I don’t intend on shooting the breeze with you while your friend makes time with my sister. Move.”

“See, I think Hunk would say he is _our_ friend, and I don’t think you’ve noticed, but those two are like Troy and Gabriella. Totally innocent!”

“Do you know what kind of trouble found them because they were innocent and clueless? She’s only sixteen. Move!”

“I think you’re confusing the characters with the actors, dude.”

Rax picked Lance up by the shoulders and set him out of the way like a garden post. Lance would have been impressed by the sheer upper body strength if he wasn’t worried about Hunk just then. He practically had to skip to keep up with Rax.

“Hey, wait!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Hey, look who it is.”

Pidge smacked the last morsel of pretzel with mustard out of Keith’s hands to get his attention; it landed on the mall floor. Keith stared down at it mournfully while pondering the five second rule. He still hadn’t been to the market.

“Now you can ask him what his tiny little problem was.”

“What?”

Pidge grabbed Keith’s chin and turned it so he was looking across the food court.

Keith almost didn’t recognize Lance without the school uniform on. The olive green anorak jacket did nice things for his skin, even though it didn’t need the extra help. Well-worn denim encased Lance’s long legs, which were currently trying to keep up with the ground-eating stride of a very determined boy making a beeline for the eatery with the good tofu wraps. Lance’s big friend was already there, making goo goo eyes at that shy girl who worked the counter.

“Let’s go over there and make ourselves conspicuous.” Pidge signaled to their brother, who was busy switching registers with his relief at the pretzel place. Matt signaled back that he somehow understood Pidge’s sibling telepathy.

“Do we really want to get involved with that?” Keith asked.

Over at the tofu place, Lance was trying to keep himself positioned between the intense boy and his abashed-looking friend. The shy girl now looked like she wanted a tunnel to open up under her feet so she could disappear.

“Unless you want your dance partner in traction, I think we’d better.” Pidge was already up and moving. “Besides, I like Shay, and her brother gives her too much crap. Her virginity shouldn’t be anybody’s business but her own.”

Keith couldn’t fathom getting that involved in a sibling’s sex life. The one and only sex talk he’d gotten from Shiro had been so embarrassing it still haunted his dreams. Other people had nightmares about showing up naked for a test. Keith had nightmares about Shiro telling the worst Rubik’s Cube joke ever in the history of time, in front of everyone he knew, in slow motion.

He sized up the guy butting heads with Lance as he approached. Shay’s brother was bigger than Lance, especially through the shoulders, but also on the lean side, not overly bulky. Of course that could be deceptive. Keith himself was stronger than he looked. He stepped up next to Lance and saw the other guy turn sideways in a clear defensive posture, acknowledging the fact that he was up against at least two now. He wondered why the guy hadn’t seemed intimidated by that big bruiser Hunk standing in the background, considering that’s whose proximity he’d seemed to be reacting to.

“Keith?” Lance looked honestly relieved.

“So you do remember my name.”

Lance rolled his eyes, the ungrateful twit. “Just because I don’t always use it doesn’t mean I don’t remember it.”

“How about I start calling you Pauline then.”

“Say what?”

“Cause of how I keep finding you in peril from mustache-twirlers.” Keith waved a hand in the direction of the now confused-looking brother of Shay.

“You take that back, that is so not true!”

“If you don’t remember the last time you faced a mustache-twirler then I pity your survival instincts.”

“And I pity your observational skills, Holmes!”

“Uh,” said Brother O’Shay, raising his hand. “I don’t have a mustache. So…”

“But if you did you’d totally twirl it, right?” Keith looked at him expectantly.

Brother O’Shay blinked rapidly and pointed between Keith and Lance. “I’m not in this – whatever is going on between you guys, okay? I’m just here for my sister.”

“Don’t bother trying to understand the weird UST with these two.” Pidge leaned casually between Keith and Lance, linking arms with both of them. “C’mon losers, a booth table just opened up and I want it.”

Keith saw Lance glance over his shoulder as Pidge dragged them off. Keith followed his eye line and saw Hunk coming along behind them carrying two laden trays, and while he hadn’t known the guy long, he knew a ‘whistling in the graveyard’ expression when he saw one. 

“Thanks for the save?” Lance looked down at Pidge as they reached the booth.

“De nada.” Pidge grinned up at him.

“Thanks Pidge, you’re a lifesaver.” Hunk set the trays down on the table, looking way happier at being cockblocked than Keith would have expected.

“Just call me Cupid.”

“Uh oh.” Matt joined them, carrying a bag of torn pretzels. His boss let the employees take them home instead of tossing them. Matt’s uniform shirt and the black long john shirt under it reeked of burnt sugar. “What mischief are you up to now?”

“Nothing illegal.” Pidge smirked. “Just setting up a study date with Hunk here. He’s coming over in a few days to work on that experiment we were talking about.”

“Right on.” Matt sat the bag down within Keith’s reach, so Keith reached and snagged out a piece of cinnamon sugar pretzel.

“Shay’s coming over too. Between the four of us, I think we could come up with something really good for CPS this year.”

So that’s why Pidge was so satisfied with themselves. Between enabling Hunk and Shay’s dating game and furthering the Holts’ perennial quest to achieve victory at the citywide science fair and make it to the international competition, this would count as a win win for Pidge.

“So.” Pidge leaned on their hand in Lance’s general direction. “What was that tiny little problem you were talking about the other day?”

Lance groaned and rolled his eyes in that melodramatic way of his. “You mean that problem I mentioned to Keith on the phone in a private conversation?”

“No cell phone conversation is truly private.”

“Dude they’re right,” Hunk said as he rooted around in a messenger bag. “You might as well get it over with – here it is!”

Lance said “Hunk what the hell” as Hunk pulled a familiar-looking sheaf of papers out of the bag. Lance snagged the papers out of Hunk’s hand and smacked him over the head with them.

“Is that your release form?” Keith asked.

“Yes,” answered Lance “this is my release form, and this,” he glared at Hunk, “is my bag.”

Pidge snatched the stapled papers out of Lance’s hand and rifled through them. “Why isn’t this signed yet?”

“His guardian already told him she didn’t want him competing so he doesn’t want to show it to her because he thinks she’ll go ballistic,” Hunk said around his straw.

Pidge raised their eyebrows. “That’s a problem.”

Lance shrugged pensively as he blew on his soup. “I’m counting on the adage that it’s better to beg forgiveness than lose permission.”

“You’re misquoting that,” Keith felt compelled to point out.

“Anyway, you don’t need permission,” said Pidge. “You’re seventeen, right?”

“Yeah?” Lance said. “I’m still a minor.”

“Not as far as Illinois labor law is concerned. You can sign this yourself.”

“What?” Keith smacked a hand on the table. “You mean to tell me I didn’t have to get Shiro to sign mine?” It had turned out fine, but he’d stressed about it for nothing.

Matt and Hunk laughed at him and shook the table with their jollity, and another paper fell out of Lance’s messenger bag.

“Oh sorry, Lance. Hey what’s this?” Hunk apparently never met a private note he didn’t want to read immediately, but Lance just waved it off this time.

“Nothing, just an invite from Sir Self Regard to go to his debut or whatever.” Lance squinted at it thoughtfully. “I thought I crumpled that thing up?”

“Looks like somebody tried to flatten it back out.” Hunk’s eyes widened. “You don’t think Allura wanted you to buy a suit because of this do you?”

“No way.” But a look of dawning horror was overtaking Lance’s (pretty) face. “She knows I need one for college interviews and stuff, that’s all.”

“A formal one? Because you know, she was kind of specific about that part.”

“Oh shit, she found the invitation somehow and she wants me to go and I don’t want to go Hunk, el es jamonero, I don’t want to gooooo!” Lance brought a hand to his head like a silent film star.

“Will you relax?” Hunk patted Lance’s shoulder. “Just buy the suit and then make like you’re going, but instead I’ll pick you up around the corner and we’ll go get pizza.”

“That won’t work,” Keith said.

“He’s right.” Lance looked dejected. “Drule’s father is bankrolling Allura’s postdoc research. She’ll bring it up at work because she doesn’t believe in wasting an opportunity to network, and Lotor Drule is the kind of guy who wouldn’t waste an opportunity to get back at me for blowing him off. I’m sure his dad’s the same way.”

“He is,” Keith confirmed.

“Maybe I can help with this.” Pidge plucked the invitation out of Hunk’s hands.

“Whatever you’re gonna do, you can’t let it come back to us,” Keith warned, because he knew them and what they were capable of.

Pidge grinned the biggest, evilest of grins. A grin that would make the Grinch go, “damn, son.” Somewhere in Lake Forest, Lotor Drule shivered and didn’t know why.

“I know what we’re going to do.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“So, what exactly is it that we’re going to do?” Matt leaned over his sibling’s shoulder.

“Hush and let momma work.”

They had decamped to the mall concierge area to rent computer access with a prepaid gift card. Not that Pidge couldn’t do their thing perfectly well on their ThinkPad, but they said it would help them obfuscate their trail to use a rented computer. Then Pidge had run off Lance and Hunk (who would be going with as his ‘plus one’) on the grounds of plausible deniability.

They scanned the invitation and used photo editing software to clean it up so that it didn’t look like it had been recently balled up in somebody’s fist. On the computer screen it had been scrubbed so that it practically gleamed, the silver embossed letters looking almost 3D.

 

Zirconium and Haggar Drule request the pleasure of your company at a cotillion in honor of their son

Procyon Lotor

this Thursday promptly at 7 p.m.

 

Pidge stared at it a moment and then changed the time to 7:30 p.m. “Can’t risk having the surprise show up before the guest of honor.”

“No, that wouldn’t do, would it?”

Underneath the address of the swanky club where the soiree was being held, they added: Free food and beverages. All are welcome.

“So subtle, yet so evil.”

“It still needs something.” Pidge tapped their chin. “Ooh, I know.” They uploaded a video file from their phone, trimmed a clip and renamed it “Lotor Dance.” Moments later they were gazing upon the glory of Lotor’s hair caressing the clenching ass of his dance partner during their audition. Pidge looped the slow-turning pair into a gif and added the jazzy horn riff from “I Want Your Sex Part II” as a sound effect. Then they added the multimedia file to the edited invitation and changed the properties before setting it loose on the unwary public a.k.a. social media.

“Fly free, brave little post.”

“I’m so glad you’re not my enemy,” said Keith.

“You know we have to witness this, right?”

Keith and Pidge both turned doubtful looks upon Matt.

“What, like in person?”

“I’m with Keith on this one. We’ll have Lance and Hunk as our on-the-scene witnesses, we don’t need to be there in person.”

“Come on, man.” Matt pouted. “We can go in disguise. It’ll be fun!”

Pidge glared at their brother. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass unless we do this, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Matt nodded, completely unashamed. “You shouldn’t have made that invitation so inviting if you didn’t want me to want to go too.”

And that was how Keith wound up contributing to the Holt costume makeup fund to help them restock their supplies. All so they could crash a cotillion for a guy he didn’t like, on behalf of another guy he didn’t want to like.

And he still didn’t make it to the market.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> de nada - Closest translation in both intent and word choice is "Think nothing of it."
> 
> el es jamonero - "He is a pervert" is the intent. Jamonero can translate literally to butcher knife, but in Cuban slang the word is used to describe the sort of rando who gropes people on the bus.


	6. We got a smash double-header

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Hunk go to the ball, Pidge's prank turns everything into a pumpkin, and Shiro and Allura finally meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the kudos, it is so kind of you and I appreciate it. This chapter begins the possible triggers I alluded to in the preface to the first chapter. It's not graphic, but if you want to skip it, stop reading after the second break of tildes and stars, and pick up again at the third break of tildes and stars.
> 
> "Such a sweet thing, I wanna do everything. What a beautiful feelin'. Crimson and clover, over and over" - Crimson and Clover, as performed by Joan Jett and The Blackhearts

 

Lance looked like a million bucks in a three-piece suit made of navy blue worsted wool, if he wasn’t being too modest. It was a comfortable suit and while it had not cost a million bucks, he would have never been able to afford it out of his summer job savings alone. Allura’s generous donation had been crucial. The look was completed with a matching ascot tie over a crisp, white spread-collar shirt with mother of pearl cufflinks. He’d already owned the pair of black Balmorals.

He hoped whatever it was Pidge had planned didn’t hurt the suit. If he had to endure this party then he damn well ought to get to keep the clothes.

Lotor hadn’t yet come out to leer at him. Lance gathered that he was supposed to make a grand entrance into the ballroom on the sweeping staircase, which had been draped in red velvet for the occasion. In the meantime Lance had to suffer the company of Lotor’s prep school friends who were by turns making innuendos at him and giving the side eye to Hunk. He had come into this thinking he might get to practice his ballroom technique but now he was sure he didn’t want to dance with any of these people.

Hunk looked very handsome in a black suit that had been tailored to fit him by someone who knew what they were doing, but apparently these snobs had made the fabric as blended at a hundred paces and weren’t giving him the time of day. Not that Hunk seemed to have noticed. He’d struck up a conversation with the catering chef about the canapés, and now those two were so absorbed in food talk that Salazar could hardly be bothered to sliver off a slice of roast beef unless a guest twitched his white coat sleeve to get his attention.

The most persistent prep schooler to attempt to engage Lance was a sandy-haired guy named Wade. He kept sidling over even though his date Kala looked ready to strangle him with her chiffon scarf. Here he came again, looking like he was gearing up for another intrusive question, so Lance popped one of those puff pastry things in his mouth as a preemptive measure. Then he stood there chewing while Wade stared.

“Wow, you fit the whole thing in your mouth,” was what the Douchemaster Supreme finally said.

Clearly Lance had underestimated this guy’s determination to be creepily all up in his business. He was getting the uncomfortable feeling that the prep schoolers assumed him to be Lotor’s prize for winning whatever it was you won to get one of these parties thrown in your honor. Winning the birth lottery, maybe. Lance entertained a brief fantasy of popping a pastry up Wade’s nostril to see if the whole thing would fit in there. He wondered if Kala would fight him or help him if he did.

The four-piece band abruptly stopped their lackluster cover of “Eighteen with a Bullet” and launched into a slightly more inspired rendition of “What a Difference a Day Makes.” The lights in the ballroom dimmed and a spotlight lit up the staircase. Lotor stood at the top, and even if he was a creep, Lance could admit he was a damned good-looking creep in a slim-fit black tux with purple satin lapels, his hair held away from his face by a platinum circlet. Lotor smirked out at the crowd gathered to witness him do whatever ritual was required at these things. Lance still wasn’t quite sure, actually. He’d heard of men’s cotillions, but this was the first one he’d ever attended.

The man of the hour descended the stairs, only taking his hands out of his pockets (which, Lance may have never been to one of these before, but that had to be bad form) to grasp the hands of the middle aged couple waiting at the bottom of the steps. These must be his parents. Papa Drule looked like an older, beefier, darker-haired version of Lotor. Mama Drule had good bones but the ravaged skin of a woman who enjoyed her social lubricants. Lotor evidently got his goldilocks from her, but her babylights could only have come from a really good colorist.

Somebody handed Mama Drule a wireless microphone. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” she said in a voice dipped in tobacco products, “we present to you our son, Procyon Lotor Drule.”

Mama and Papa held their son’s joined hands above their heads as the assembled crowd politely clapped.

Then all hell broke loose.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Can we go yet?” Matt had been eager to go before they’d even left the Holt residence under the amused eyes of Sam and Colleen Holt, who thought they were going to a costume party.

Which they kind of were.

“Cool your jets, brother mine. We have to go in with a crowd. Then we’ll have to leave before the cops show up. Timing is everything.”

The three of them were hunkered down under a tree with an eye line on the club’s entrance, trying to look inconspicuous. Easier said than done, because they were all sporting neon hair, extensive face makeup and fake piercings. Since it would be impossible to avoid being seen once they got into the club, they had aimed to avoid being recognized.

They’d already seen Lance and Hunk go inside the building, looking spiffy. Lance sure cleaned up nice. Not that Keith had any plans of telling him so. But damn. That boy could wear the hell out of a suit.

Along came a group that resembled what Pidge had been watching for: a hodge podge of downtowners, hooligans and college kids, all mingling on the sidewalk before marching purposefully through the building’s outer double doors. Some of them were waving around papers that might be printouts of invitations.

“Okay now we can infiltrate.”

The three pranksters scampered over to join the clamoring group in the club lobby.

“We were invited here to see Lotor dance!” hollered someone up in the front. A chorus of agreement rose up amongst the others.

“Now see here,” the doorman began, but he never got to finish that thought because the crowd, which was steadily growing, trampled on past and burst through a second set of double doors into the ballroom.

The beau of the ball stood conveniently illuminated by a spotlight. The crowd surged towards him like a pack of coyotes, howling out their battle cry.

“Lotor dance!”

The band on stage started a cover of “Keep a Knockin’.” If the intended effect had been to let the interlopers know that they couldn’t come in, what happened instead was that everybody pouring into the ballroom started to dance. Then some of the people who were dressed like legitimate guests at this thing leapt into the fray by dancing with the newcomers.

“Best cotillion ever!” shouted a girl in a green pouf dress as she spun into the melee.

A dedicated group split off from the main crowd, still trying to get Lotor Drule to dance – with them or for them, that part wasn’t clear. More power to them.

Keith had spotted Lance and Hunk near the buffet table. A big sandy-haired guy was trying to drag Lance out of the room with him, while a brunette in red beat on the sandy-haired guy’s shoulders with her sparkly purse. Hunk was trying to get around the table but he was pinned by the crowd, and for some reason it did not seem to have occurred to him to just flip the table out of his way. Keith had a notion he might be too respectful of such lovingly presented food for the thought to have entered his mind.

Keith had survived on Shiro’s cooking for half a dozen years and was not so encumbered with food guilt. He rushed the table and threw it as hard as he could.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Get off me, cerdo!” Lance put all his weight into trying to pull away, but Wade had his arm in a two-fisted grip, and outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.

When Pidge’s prank had gone into full effect, Wade the gallant had said, “Let me escort you to safety,” and then much to Lance’s surprise, it had been his own arm that had been taken.

“Shouldn’t you be taking Kala to safety?” he had asked, but received no reply. Kala had not been any more pleased about this than Lance.

Now they were both slapping an implacable Wade about the head and shoulders while he dragged Lance slowly but inexorably towards the emergency exit. Hunk’s shouts of alarm had been lost in the rumpus going on around them.

Lance twisted in Wade’s hands, looking back towards Hunk, and saw a punk rocker with a crimson fauxhawk running straight at the buffet table. There was something familiar about the way he moved. Lance’s eyes widened as he realized the punk rocker wasn’t going to stop. The table roiled upwards like a tidal wave, sending hors d’oeuvres sailing through the air like flotsam. Lance shoved at Wade to put his broad back between himself and the airborne food and Kala joined him in using Wade’s bulk as a bulwark. Quick thinker, that girl. A little amoral, a lot temperamental, but fast on her feet.

Wade finally stopped moving as appetizers rained down on his shoulders. A couple yards away, Lotor’s mother shrieked as an entire mold of beet aspic landed on her head. Other guests, invited and uninvited, started picking up food and throwing it at each other. Luckily Lance remained unstained. He gave an experimental tug on his arm to see if Wade was surprised enough to let him go. Wade yanked him in closer.

“Hey!” Lance tried to pry his fingers off.

“I’m escorting you,” Wade snorted like an angry bull.

“No dumbass, you’re escorting me!” Kala declared this with another smack of her sequined clutch upside his head.

Then all of the sudden, Wade had a punk rocker on his back. Punk rocker dug his steel-toed boots into Wade’s stomach and got a good grip on his windpipe, and Lance took advantage of the distraction to put a knee to his gonads. Wade made a whistling noise like a potato in the microwave and let go instantly. Lance ran.

“Hunk!”

“Lance!” Hunk barreled across the food-strewn floor and crushed Lance in a hug. “Are you okay?”

“I want to go now, can we please go?”

“We need to go.” That was Pidge’s voice coming out of a punk rocker with a lime green top knot, who ran past them and straight towards the emergency exit.

“Cops’re coming.” And there went Matt, with purple spikes.

So, wait a minute. Did that mean the red fauxhawk guy was…? Could it be? Matt thumped the guy’s back as he ran past to get him to drop his grip on Wade, and Lance’s suspicion was confirmed. That could only be Keith.

Lance let Hunk lead him to the emergency exit and out the door. Pidge and Keith were waiting outside at the edge of the parking lot.

Keith was breathing like a racehorse. The details of his makeup job were easier to make out under the street lights, and whoever had applied it had a deft hand with it. He had on kohl eyeliner with fully-winged teal eye shadow extending from his brows to his cheekbones, and Gothic red lips punctuated by a silver labret. His black t-shirt was smeared with brie and compote, and he smelled like crushed blackberries.

Now that Lance was close enough to see his violet eyes, there was no mistaking Keith for anyone else. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Joan Jett started singing “Crimson and Clover.”

“I’ll call you guys later, right now we’ve got to jam,” said Pidge, who had painted-on cat claws extending from either side of their face, each claw ending in a tiny crystal stud.

“Keith,” said Lance. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Keith looked like he meant it. Then Pidge grabbed him by the lapel of his motorcycle jacket and dragged him off.

“Come on.” Hunk set a comforting arm around Lance’s shoulders. “I’ll take you home.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith felt like an alien on the campus of St. Mark School for Boys. He was the only guy dressed in anything close to casual clothes. He was the only guy with hair longer than collar length. And he was the only guy tooling around the parking area on a motorcycle.

He’d been hoping to catch Lance between classes. Hunk mentioned that they sometimes left campus during the lunch break. Keith spotted Hunk’s car, but no Hunk near it, and he didn’t feel comfortable just standing around next to the car, so he decided to cruise the lot and the circular driveway. Then he spotted an alley leading around to the other side of the property and that was when he hit pay dirt.

The school had a fenced-in calisthenics park in back of the building, and there was Lance. And Hunk too, but it was impossible to look away from Lance in those candy red workout shorts. That Hunk was also wearing, but not like Lance.

All of the boys were wearing red shorts and white polo shirts, it was a uniform because this was a Catholic school, and some of the boys were even good looking, but none of those other ones were Lance. Keith wasn’t sure if he was ready for the revelation that he now found Lance more attractive than other people. But there it was, undeniable. Keith parked the bike and stepped closer to the fence line.

Lance’s class was lined up to take turns working out on the pommel horse, under the watchful gaze of a brawny man with a whistle around his neck. Most of the boys leaped up onto the apparatus, performed a few moves and then dismounted quickly to make way for the next boy in line.

Lance mounted the pommel horse and immediately began swinging his long legs around like he was made of sunshine and dandelions. He swung himself over in a flip and landed neatly with his feet together and arms up. And then he saw Keith standing by the fence. Keith waved. Even at this distance, he could see the peach flush dust Lance’s cheekbones.

Behind him, Hunk slid head-first over the pommel horse and rolled to his feet, attracting the instructor’s ire, but honestly Keith was impressed that Hunk was nimble enough to somersault over the obstruction that fast without hurting himself. Hunk double-timed over to Lance and they exchanged a few quiet words.

Then Hunk turned back to the incensed instructor, speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry, “Brother Newley, would you please show me again how you do it? I think I could get it if I just see you do it one more time.”

“Alright but I’m only doing this again once, everybody gather around.”

The other boys, looking like they’d been released from purgatory, gathered around. All except Lance, who darted Keith’s way. As he approached, Keith caught a glimpse of bruises peeking out from under the hem of a short sleeve.

“Hi.” Lance was all smiles as he rested his hands in the chain link fence.

“Hey.” Keith clutched the links next to Lance’s hands. “You okay?”

Lance’s smile flattened for a moment, like the sun going behind a cloud. “I’m better now.”

“Good.” How to bring back the sunlight? “I’d hate it if that experience put you off wearing suits, because wearing one, ah, suited you.”

Lance’s bright, honest smile came back out. “Keith did you just pun?”

“Please never tell Pidge.”

Lance laughed low in his throat. “Well as long as we’re complimenting each other, I’ve got to say, you really pulled off that rocker look you were wearing last night.”

“I can’t take full credit for that. Pidge and Matt are into special effects makeup. They’re getting pretty good at it.”

Lance gave him a thoughtful look that Keith had seen him aim at Hunk once, but whatever he was thinking he seemed to let it go.

“Think they’d do ours for the final competition?” he finally asked.

“I know they would.” Keith cleared his throat. “Actually that’s part of why I came out here. To see if you could practice tonight.”

Lance pursed his lips. “You could have called me on the phone for that.”

“I could’ve. But I wanted to see you.” Needed to see that he was okay. That rushed cell phone conference at the Holt residence had not been enough.

“Okay.” Lance’s eyes were intensely blue in the afternoon sunlight. “You want to meet at the studio same as last time?”

“Not the studio. Meet me at The Court.”

“You want to play basketball?” Lance sounded bemused, but game.

“Maybe some other time,” Keith smiled. “The Court is an under-21 club. Ask Hunk, he’ll know about it.”

A shrill whistle pierced the air. “Martinez, get back over here and stop fraternizing with that punk!”

“I’ll see you later,” Lance promised, and then he jogged back towards the rest of his class.

Keith stared after him as long as he dared before leaving on the bike.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

GALRA Corp owned and operated out of a twenty storey neo-gothic building in the Loop, close to the river. The interior of the building favored a lot of purple and chrome in the decorating scheme, with tall, narrow stained glass windows memorializing WWI.

Allura’s imagination always took her back to _Forbidden Planet_ , a film that had given her bad dreams as a child, whenever she came here. Usually she met with an intense young executive named Jurak Sendak to discuss her project’s progress, but today she had been ushered to the top floor office of the top man himself, Zirconium Drule. Or as he preferred to be called, Zarkon.

The office building’s ribbed vaults and ogival arches had been carefully preserved, but the elevator was a marvel of modern engineering, sterile as a surgical suite and quiet as a tomb. It gave Allura the collywobbles, but with twenty floors to traverse quickly there was no avoiding it. She breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally released into the lobby for the executive suite.

The receptionist roosted within a massive marble desk which caged him all around. He wore a pomaded pompadour and that indefinable air of superior subservience that gatekeepers often had. “You may sit,” he said.

Allura looked around and saw hard, narrow benches and corner chairs against every available wall. She also saw that she was not alone. A tall man in a black flight jacket stood cross-armed next to a wall upon which a reproduction of The Lady and the Unicorn was displayed. His body still faced the tapestry series, but his head had turned to face her when she came into the room, and he was still looking. His high fade haircut suited his classically beautiful bone structure. A shock of white forelock contrasted sharply with the ink black of his hair, highlighting a pink scar across his nose and calling attention to his dark grey, almond shaped eyes.

“What do you mean you won’t fix it!”

“Sooner or later you’re going to have to learn to fight your own battles!”

The raised voices had come from within the inner office. Allura traded puzzled glances with the other waiting guest. The receptionist remained snottily serene.

“But they embarrassed us!”

“If you hadn’t gotten yourself involved in this dance nonsense there would have been nothing to be embarrassed about!”

The inner office door was thrown open, ejecting an extremely good-looking young man with an ugly sneer upon his face. Completely ignoring the other occupants of the room, he threw back over his shoulder, “At least Mother’s hair matches the decor now, I suppose you’re glad of that!” Then he flounced off towards the elevator.

The intercom buzzed on the receptionist’s desk. _“Haxus, is my_ _three o’clock_ _here yet?”_ It was the same older man’s voice they’d just heard shouting from inside the office.

“Yes sir, they are waiting in the anteroom.”

_“Very good. Send them in.”_

Haxus looked over at Allura and the tall man. “You may enter,” he said to them.

The tall man just headed straight for the office door, so Allura followed him.

The palatial office was lined with a massive peony-patterned area rug on the floor, and tall, glass-encased curio shelves on two walls. Zarkon sat enthroned behind an oak pedestal desk covered in carved lion heads. Behind his plum executive chair a triptych of tall, arched windows looked out over the Chicago River.

Zarkon himself looked like an older version of the boy who’d just stormed out. His shorter hair was a darker salt and pepper, and his musculature was decidedly burlier under his Italian Cut suit jacket, but the strong bones of the face and the pale irises were the same. Allura had only met Zarkon on video conference before today. She found that feline gaze even more unnerving in person.

“Allura,” he said, and stood and reached for her hand. She offered hers, expecting a shake, and getting a kiss to the back of it instead.

“Takashi,” he said to the man, with the barest of nods in his direction. “Sit, both of you, please.” Zarkon gestured to a pair of ornate side chairs upholstered in purple silk.

Takashi sat with the thin-lipped resignation of one accustomed to this ritual. Allura followed his example, feeling like a princess about to be scolded, which was probably the whole point of having such ridiculously ostentatious guest chairs in an office.

“I apologize for my son’s acting out. His cotillion last night did not go off as planned.”

Allura held her breath. Lance had been at that cotillion, and had come home with too bright eyes and a too bright smile. She had known something was not right as soon as he came in, but he had tried to play it off, and she had allowed it, thinking she’d pry it out of him later when he’d had a chance to regain equilibrium. She had once preferred to lick her own wounds in private before approaching anyone else, when she’d come home from dreadful parties set up by a well-meaning Tio Alfor. She’d thought it would be different for Lance, being a boy, and an outgoing boy at that. Maybe it wasn’t as different as she’d assumed. Now she wished she’d asked.

She forced herself to smile politely. “It’s quite alright. I’m sure it must have been very upsetting.” If anything had happened to Lance because of these people, she was going to do her level best to make it even more upsetting, but no point assigning guilt until she knew for sure.

Zarkon waved off her show of concern. “The boy auditioned for a dance contest, against my advice, and paid the consequence. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times, never do anything you’ll be embarrassed about later in front of strangers with cell phones.

“But that’s neither here nor there. Sendak tells me you’re nearly finished with the plans for the prototype.”

“I have the initial plans completed, but I would prefer to test a drone-sized scale model before attempting a manned test of a full-sized prototype.”

A grimace flashed so briefly across Zarkon’s face that Allura would have thought she imagined it if she didn’t trust her own observational skills better. “How long will that take?”

“If I have access to a 3D printer I can have the first test drone built in less than a day.”

“The first?”

“I’d want to give the drone a thorough vetting before putting a human being in a full-sized model.” When Zarkon merely stared at her, Allura added, “Besides it would be more cost effective. Why waste money on a full-sized model before ironing out the bugs?”

“Humph.” Zarkon stared down at a copy of her prospectus he’d brought up on his tablet. “Get the drone tests done in a week. I’ll give you Takashi to help it go more smoothly. He’ll be highly motivated to get it done quickly and accurately, since he’s your test pilot.”

Allura looked at Takashi, who didn’t look the least bit surprised by this development. “Sir,” was all he said.

“Good, then we’re understood.” Zarkon stood again, a clear dismissal. “Allura, it was enchanting to meet you in person. Takashi. We’ll meet here again a week from Monday to discuss Phase 2.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Allura Cárdenas O’Farrill Eng.Sc.D. had not been what Shiro was expecting. He had worked with postdoc researchers many times before, and meetings like this one had always concluded in one of two ways: either the researcher became gung ho to please Zarkon and willing to go along with anything he suggested, or they were immediately outraged and got their funding shut down just as fast. But O’Farrill had done neither. Instead, she’d kept her counsel and her cool. She had also taken unspoken cues from Shiro several times during that meeting, which was something he hadn’t experienced professionally since his Air Force days.

GALRA Corp made a healthy percentage of their money on the patents for the ideas they financially supported. That was why Zarkon drove researchers at such a breakneck speed. He wanted their ideas legally protected under the GALRA aegis as quickly as possible, before anyone else got wind of the possibilities and initiated their own studies. Zarkon would only slow down the pace of the study once he knew there was an idea worth supporting and that it would be supporting GALRA. Only rarely would a researcher challenge GALRA over ownership of a patent, but by then it was usually too late.

O’Farrill leaned against the handrail of the elevator they were sharing to the bottom floor, eyes distant on some interior view. The business casual outfit she wore flattered her lean curves, though that probably had more to do with her impeccable posture than the quality of the clothes themselves. Her long, silver blonde hair was held back in a partial updo, revealing the appealing contrast between her umber complexion and cobalt eyes. She was easily the most beautiful woman Shiro had ever seen, projected a dauntingly self-reliant presence about herself, and he only had a few more floors to decide how far he should trust her.

_Fortune helps the brave_. Keith’s grandmother used to say that often, to both Keith and to Shiro. When Shiro’s mother and stepfather had died in a car crash, Kim Min-Hee had taken in seventeen year-old Shiro along with five year-old Keith, even though Shiro bore no biological relation to her and no one would have questioned her if she’d allowed him to float into the system for his last year of high school. Shiro’s only living blood relative besides his little brother was a great aunt residing in a nursing home in Japan. His mother had named his stepfather as his guardian in case she died, never considering they might die at the same time.

No matter how inevitable, loss always came as a terrible surprise.

Six years later they’d lost Minnie too, and it was Shiro’s turn to repay the favor and keep Keith out of foster care. He knew what it was like to be suddenly wrested from everything familiar, and he didn’t want that for Keith. Shiro liked to hope that Minnie would be pleased with the job he had done in her stead. Regardless, he really wanted to be alive to see how the rest of Keith’s life played out, for more reasons than he could count.

The elevator dinged open to reveal Dudley the toothy intern pushing a mail cart, probably late with the FedEx again. Shiro would feel sorry for the guy except Dudley liked to use that mail cart’s size as an excuse for close-talking on the elevator.

“Going up?” Dudley asked.

“Down,” Shiro said.

“Damn.”

The doors closed. In two more stops they would open on the marble floors and stone columns of the building’s main lobby.

“Doctor O’Farrill,” Shiro began cautiously.

“You can call me Allura.” Her assessing gaze turned outward, acknowledging him.

“Allura. I don’t believe we were properly introduced.” He bowed briefly. “My name is Shirogane Takashi. But most people call me Shiro.”

He introduced himself the way his father had taught him so many years ago, taking it on faith that this well-traveled woman would understand.

“Shiro.” He liked the sound of his familiar name in her rich accent. “I am glad to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” He reflexively stood at parade rest. “I was wondering if we might discuss this project further over a cup of coffee.”

Her expressive eyes went away again for a moment, then returned, sharp and intense. “I need to have a discussion with my ward, but he won’t be out of classes for another hour at least. I do enjoy café con leche, and I know a place nearby that serves a good cup.”

“Lead the way.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cerdo - pig


	7. It takes some time for a feeling to grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura has her discussion with Lance and learns a few things, but not everything. Keith and Lance have their first date (and not incidentally, so do Hunk and Shay). Someone unexpected is spotted at The Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, it means a lot. You guys are awesome!
> 
> "And now the hands of time are standin' still, Midnight angel, won't you say you will" - Shadows of the Night, performed by Pat Benatar

 

 

Lance danced into the flat feeling much more exuberant about tonight’s proposed outing than he had the previous night’s. According to Hunk, The Court was a dance hall with a basketball theme and good pizza. It was a popular date spot among the area’s high school students.

A date spot. Was that awkwardness by the fence Keith asking him out on a date? Why did Lance like the idea of that so much?

He pas de bourréed down the hall to his room and then stopped right in front of the door. There was a fragrance wafting out of the kitchen so wonderfully familiar he had to look in. The scent was coming from a large sugarcane cup on the kitchen island. Allura emerged from behind the cabinets with two demitasse cups in her hands.

“¡Hola, Lance! I brought home colada from that place in the Loop.”

The smile was warm and welcoming, but the coffee said she wanted to talk and she was afraid he’d bolt without bribery. The enticing smell of strong, sweet coffee overcame his reservations about whatever it was Allura wanted to talk about. He stood across from her at the island and accepted the offered cup.

“Thanks Prima.” Lance took a sip of caramel rich brew. Yum. He tossed back the rest and poured himself another. “I promise I totally started my college application essays.” He had also started applications to UofC and Northwestern in addition to Allura’s approved shortlist. When he’d researched Northwestern he’d discovered the school had a veritable who’s who of performing arts alumni.

“I’m glad to hear it, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” Allura leaned her elbows on the island, nursing her own cup. “I heard something happened at the cotillion last night.” She peeked over the top of her cup as she brought it up for another sip. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He was _fine_. Keith had intervened before he ever had to find out what could have happened. Lance’s arm gave a little throb as if to remind him of what had already happened, and which he resolutely ignored.

Allura looked about as convinced by his assertion as Keith had back at school.

“It was just party crashers,” Lance said, shrugging. “That’s all.”

“Party crashers.” Allura looked nonplussed. “Did one of them try to hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” Lance laughed. “One of them saved me from a guest.”

Allura went from agitated to irate in 2.9 seconds. “Lance, what bloody happened?”

“It’s okay, lo prometo. One of the guests got a little handsy and then a punk rocker gave him something else to think about so that Hunk and I could get away. I’m fine.”

“Who was it.”

Lance blinked. “I told you, it was a punk rocker, and no way could I have recognized him under all that makeup.”

“Not the rocker, the guest.”

“Oh. Um. Just one of Lotor’s classmates, I guess.” Not that he didn’t wish one of Allura’s avenging angel acts upon the hapless asshole, but the farther away he could keep her from that whole mess the better all around.

Allura raised a ‘come on are you kidding’ brow. “His name?” She knew he was too well-trained in the social graces not to remember it.

Lance sighed, knowing she wouldn’t let it go and hoping for the best. “Wade Marshall.”

“I’m sorry Lance.”

“What for?” Lance turned his empty cup over in his hands. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I made you feel pressure to attend that party. I should have realized you crumpled up the invitation for a reason.  You’re not prone to being sloppy.”

Lance shrugged. “Lotor is kind of a creep. No offense to your boss.”

“None taken. The boss is kind of a creep as well.”

Lance stood up out of his comfortable slouch. “Do I have to go beat somebody up?”

Allura laughed grimly. “No, he’s not that kind of a creep.” She sobered. “He wants me to rush a prototype into production and put the test pilot at a risk I’m not comfortable with. And I’m not quite sure how to handle the situation, or how much is even mine to handle.” She slanted a tiny smile. “Luckily the pilot is on my side in this.”

“Is he hot?”

“Lance, honestly!”

The ensuing blush told Lance that yes, the pilot was hot. Lance filed that information away for later matchmaking and/or teasing purposes.

“Hey Allura?”

“What is it Lancito?”

“How do you know for sure when a guy is into you?”

Allura lowered her cup. “There are small clues that give them away, usually. Did you meet someone at the party?”

“Not at the party, he’s um, a friend of Hunk’s. What clues?”

Allura had that gotcha glint in her eye. “Extended eye contact, standing close to you when they don’t really need to. There are other clues if you’re paying attention and they’re not extremely reserved people, but those are the main ones. Lance, is it Hunk?”

Lance indulged himself in a full body eye roll. “Oh my God Allura, Hunk is so straight you could use him to build a crankshaft. No, this guy is like, part of our group and I really think he likes me but he’s so mysterious and I keep second-guessing myself and I just don’t know what to do.”

“Lance.” Allura deployed the patient but firm tone that had met Lance after many a previous note sent home by a teacher about his ‘disruptive ebullience,’ as one of them had put it. “Who is this boy?”

Lance helped himself to the last of the colada. “His name is Keith.”

“And when am I going to meet this Keith?”

“I don’t even know for sure if he likes me that way.”

“Why don’t you bring him around and I’ll help you figure it out?”

“Because that’s giving away that I like him before I’m ready to admit it.”

Allura sipped from her demitasse. “If you’re both waiting for the other one to admit it first, you might miss your chance altogether.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Given how that conversation ended, he shouldn’t have been surprised to find her quizzing Hunk when he came out of his room ready to go on their ‘group study session.’

“I’m pretty sure everybody knows they like each other except for them,” he heard as he entered the living room.

“Hunk!” Lance stamped his foot indignantly.

Allura looked over Lance’s skinny jeans and v-neck pullover. “Interesting outfit for a study session. Won’t you be uncomfortable sitting in that?”

“They’re stretch and hey, what are you implying?”

Allura just smirked, and Hunk laughed. Lance pouted, which seemed to amuse them both all the more.

“I’ll just be in the car then, carry on gossiping about my love life.”

“It’s not a love life if you never confess!” Allura called out after him. Hunk laughed all the way down the elevator and halfway down the street.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The Court was a neon paean to all things basketball. In addition to the LED signs, there were autographed pictures of bball heroes both national and local on all the walls. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling were painted to resemble basketballs. There was even a real hoop mounted at one end of the dance floor, where some adventurous souls were attempting to play a pickup game without getting trampled by dancers.

A live band doing a cover of “My Sharona” was set up on a raised level that surrounded the dance floor. The female lead singer wore a fascinator mask and sang into a mic on a stand so she could have her hands free to play the claves. Her voice sounded strangely familiar but Lance couldn’t name where he’d heard it before. Maybe she just had one of those voices.

Lance and Hunk spotted their group at a booth when Pidge stood on the table and waved. Keith hopped down to the dance floor level to meet them as they walked up. He wore distressed jeans and a gray t-shirt that had a decal of an alien’s huge eyes on the chest above text reading out ‘they’re real.’ The corded muscles of his arms were trim but powerful-looking. If Keith wanted to lift him off his feet, Lance was pretty sure he could manage it.

“Hi,” Keith said, taking Lance’s hand and gently tugging him towards the dance floor.

“Bye,” Lance said cheerfully over his shoulder at the others, allowing himself to be led. “So, what moves did you want to practice tonight?”

“I thought I’d practice letting you lead. Seeing as how I need to work on that. Or so I’m told.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance felt a flutter of excitement in his belly as Keith let Lance pull him into closed position. Keith smelled warm and clean, like spiced tea.

“Ah.” Keith swallowed. “Start slow, okay? I haven’t done a lot of this kind of dancing.”

The band segued into the opening ‘ooh ooh aahs’ of “Magnet and Steel.”

“How about let’s start with a simple waltz,” Lance said. “It’s a box step moving in one direction. I’ll guide you with the pressure of my hands.” He emphasized that by gently squeezing Keith’s hand and shoulder blade.

Keith sucked in a breath and nodded. “Alright.” And they were off.

Keith caught on like wildfire, effortless in his arms. Lance felt like he was gliding through water, weightlessly suspended in each moment. Any concerns he’d had about sore muscles earlier in the evening evaporated in the latent heat generated from their movements.

“Now we’ll go in the other direction. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Lance started turning them in clockwise circles around the floor, skillfully maneuvering them around the other dancers. Keith was flushed with success and it looked really good on him. Feeling a swell of pride at his pupil’s progress, he pulled Keith into a natural spin turn. This startled a laugh out of Keith, but he followed into it without losing his footwork. So Lance did it again.

“Okay, so maybe this is kind of fun,” Keith admitted.

“Want to try an underarm turn?”

Keith wrinkled his nose cutely. “Okay?”

Lance laughed. “I promise my pits don’t stink. We’ll do a count of six instead of three. When I let go of your side and lift my arm on the fourth count, just walk under it and then come back to me. Ready?”

Keith nodded. Lance released him from closed position and Keith followed into the turn near perfectly. Technically speaking, his stride was more sliding into the turn than rising and falling, but Lance kind of liked it. There was a coiled tension in the way Keith moved, even following in a swoony dance like the waltz.

The band transitioned into “Evil Ways” as Lance was bringing Keith back into closed position, and now Lance was sure he’d heard that singer’s voice before but he still couldn’t quite place where. The rhythm had him automatically rocking into guapea and he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it until Keith yelped “Lance!”

“Oh! Sorry!” Lance toned it down to an LA style step. “Here, walk with me. Back and forth on the clave. Like this.”

Keith caught on lightning fast, with that panther-like grace that Lance found damn sexy. But it was a bit more subtle than what this dance demanded.

“You need a little more Cuban Motion.” He relaxed his knees and revolved his hips. “Like this.”

“Uh.” Pops of red appeared high on Keith’s cheekbones.

“Let me help.” Lance moved his hands lower to rest on Keith’s hips.

“Meep!”

“Move your hips in a figure eight.” Lance pressed and pulled, just enough to give him the idea. “Let your knees drop in front of each other when you shift your weight.”

“I… I think I got it.”

Lance watched Keith’s hips and ribcage rotate in opposite directions. Oh yeah, he got it. It was at that moment that Lance realized he had his hands splayed so that his thumbs were resting on Keith’s Adonis belt and his fingers grazing the top slopes of his ass.

“Guess I put a little too much Cuban in your motion, whoops? Heh heh.” His neck felt hot.

Keith had a little catlike smirk on his face. He maintained a relaxed hold on Lance’s forearms, making no effort to remove Lance’s hands from where they were.

“Having fun?” Hunk mamboed past with a giggling Shay, swinging her into a series of natural turns.

“Teach me how to do that.” Keith really seemed to like those turns.

“So demanding.”

“Lance, I will twerk on you right here.”

Lance didn’t find that prospect unpleasant in the least, but he loved that Keith was enjoying himself so he went with it.

“Okay, so what Hunk is doing has similar footwork to what we’re doing, but he’s moving on the second beat instead of the first.”

“Show me.”

Lance did. They kept circling the floor, through the rest of the Santana cover and into “Dance the Night Away.” The band moved onto “Heart of Glass” and Lance moved onto showing Keith the Rumba box step.

When the band kicked into “Heaven” Keith suddenly switched gears, pulling Lance into a face to face cuddle position.

“I think I know how this one goes,” Keith said, swaying them into a classic slow dance.

Lance was only half an inch taller than Keith, so their arms crossed as they hugged each other’s waists. Holding Keith was like standing in front of a bonfire: licking heat and a smoky trace of danger. If Lance wanted to, he could lean his forehead down onto Keith’s easily, but then he’d be too close to appreciate the view of those lovely eyes that were looking back into his just as intently.

“You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Lance smiled. “I think that’s my line.”

“You challenging my pickup line game now?” But Keith was smiling too.

“Nope. Just making an observation.” Wait a minute. “Are you trying to pick me up Kim?”

“I’m open to adding it to the routine.”

Have mercy.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Hunk and Shay had ordered them all a sausage deep dish and the Holts had pitched in a pepperoni thin crust, so Keith and Lance covered the root beer. Keith couldn’t help staring at Lance’s forearms as he helped carry the pitchers back to the booth. The way he boogied around the other patrons without sloshing the beverages out of their containers, it was as if nothing bad could ever hope to keep a permanent grip on him. Lance was wearing some cyan-shaded sweater thing that made his skin glow by contrast, and with the sleeves pushed up showed off the elegant lines of muscle there.

He had elegant lines of muscle everywhere if Keith was being honest. When Lance hopped up the steps to the dining level ahead of Keith he supplied a great view of long legs and a perky behind, because those jeans weren’t hiding much.

“The biggest challenge I’m seeing is the water,” Hunk was saying as Keith set his pitchers down on their table and slid into the booth next to Lance.

“What about recycling it?” Matt asked.

“It’s got to be potable. Recycling greywater to that level takes too long.”

“We could use reverse osmosis?” Shay suggested.

“Yeah that’d be faster, but it would require more space than what we’ve got.”

“How about this.” Pidge started drawing a diagram directly on the paper tablecloth, next to some equations that someone else had already sketched on there. Matt took out his phone and started snapping pictures as they continued using the tablecloth as a note pad.

Keith leaned into the warmth of Lance’s body space. “You understand any of this?” he murmured.

“They’re trying to scale down a greywater treatment system for a new prototype food cart.” Lance smelled sweet and earthy, like morning dew. “Beyond that, I’m lost. I always did have more of an affinity for the soft sciences than hard science.”

“Me too.”

Lance smiled. “Maybe we should study together for real some time.”

“You two dorks can handle the APA paper documenting the potential social impact of our groundbreaking new roving cafeteria.” Pidge’s voice rudely intruded on the moment they were having.

“It’s a food cart.” Keith felt the need to point this out; literally, with a slice of the thin crust.

“Don’t point food at me. We’re inventing this thing, we can call it what we want.”

“I don’t know if inventing is the right word for this.” Hunk chewed pizza thoughtfully. “Innovating is more the word I would use.”

“Well, I’m going to call our innovation Rover.”

“Branding is very important,” Shay nodded.

“Does anybody else think that singer’s voice is awfully familiar?” Lance had drifted off the conversation to stare at the band, who had continued on a streak of ballads and strummed into “Shadows of the Night.”

“Now that you mention it.” Hunk stopped chewing. “Yeah.”

Keith watched the play of darkness and light on Lance’s profile as he stared at the enigma leading the band. He liked the way the shadows cupped his cheek and softened his mouth.

“Hey, isn’t that Rolo with the guitar?” Matt asked.

“Son of a gun it totally is.” Lance turned and grinned at Keith. “What are the odds?”

Keith hadn’t recognized him either, with most of his dirty blond shag covered by an aviator cap, but that was definitely his lanky form holding a Gibson SG, and he was jamming on it. Keith squinted at the insignia on the band’s bass drum: Beezer and the Space Runners. Guess they were going with a theme.

Now that he was paying attention he agreed, that singer’s voice was weirdly familiar. But the more intriguing question rising to the forefront of Keith’s mind was this: why was a guy with a band that good, a guy who was well known for telling people at school that he was serious about his music, trying to win a spot on a dance show?

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As Lance pulled on his borrowed red helmet, he was somewhat regretting the choice to wear body conscious clothes, because he had eaten his fair share of the pizza (and cannoli afterward) and he was afraid his food baby was showing.

But also that pillion seat looked ridonkulously tiny. Either his badonkadonk was going to hang off the back of the motorcycle or his other southward parts were going to smash into the back of Keith. Either ride through the streets of Chicago with a popped booty or get off the bike at the end with an obvious boner. These were the embarrassing choices. Why had he agreed to this again?

Hunk idled past them on his way to the access road, Shay snugged up against him in the front seat of his car, both of them radiating all-is-right-with-the-worldness. “Thanks man!” He waved as they puttered on by.

Oh right. That’s why.

Keith swung his leg easily over the seat (ño, he was limber) and started the engine. The bike gave out a rumbling purr under his fingerless-gloved hands. Keith looked back over his leather-jacketed shoulder at Lance, lips curved up invitingly. “Ready?”

_No_ , Lance thought. _But here I go anyway._

Lance got on the bike, putting his feet on the pegs that Keith had shown him. The pillion seat was slightly higher than the driver’s seat, so his bits were not pressing in the worst place they could be pressing. Maybe this wouldn’t be so embarrassing after all.

“Hold on tight.”

“What?”

VROOM.

“¡Madre de Dios!” Lance clung onto Keith’s torso like a terrified kitten as they zoomed onto the access road.

“Relax!” Keith had to raise his voice to be heard above the bike’s engine. “We’re not going that fast yet!”

“Yet?!”

“Just hold onto me, lean when I lean! You can do this, it’s like dancing!”

Lance held on. He found out quickly that he could feel the muscles in Keith’s waist and thighs tense as he leaned into a turn, and so he leaned with him. It was rather like dancing. The music was the roar of the bike’s engine and the beat was his pulse.

By the time they pulled up to the curb in front of the greystone Lance didn’t want the ride to end.

“Can we go again?”

Keith laughed. “It’s not like this is the last time I’ll ever have you on the back of my bike.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.” Keith put down the kickstand. “Now grab my shoulders to steady you when you dismount.”

Lance took off the helmet, leaned in and kissed Keith on the highest point of his cheekbone, high enough to feel the surprised sweep of Keith’s lashes against his own cheek. “I had a really good time tonight,” he said to Keith’s gob-smacked expression after he was standing safely on the curb.

“Oh no you don’t.” Keith was off the bike and in Lance’s personal space liked greased lightning. “You’re not getting the last word.”

“When have you ever let me mmmph.” Keith’s warm lips interrupted as he held Lance’s jaw in place with his leather-clad palms. Ooh, nice.

Keith leaned back slightly and said to Lance’s stunned expression, “I had a better time.” His root beer breath was a sweet steam on the cool night air.

“Oh yeah? Well I had the best time.” Lance brought their mouths back together and upped the ante with his tongue.

Keith’s mouth was hot and wet, his strong arms circling Lance’s waist to clutch their bodies together. Lance put his hands in that thick mop of hair, which was silkier than it looked like it would be. When they finally broke for deep lung fulls of air, Keith said “I win,” and then they kissed again.

Lance could have kissed Keith all night, but eventually they had to take deeper breaths or risk hyperventilating.

“I should go,” Lance said on one breath, taken between shorter kisses. “Before my cousin comes down here to make you play twenty questions.”

“Wait a minute, come on!”

That was the most adorable whine Lance had ever heard in his life, and he had nieces and nephews. “It’s not like this is the last time we’ll ever kiss, you know.”

Keith’s eyes gleamed like iolite under the street lamp. “Promise?”

“With interest.”

Keith grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Lance grinned back with a raised eyebrow. “Guapo you can hold me to anything you like.”

“Really Lance?” Keith groaned in (partially) feigned irritation.

Blood pressure returned to normal, the two boys parted ways on the sidewalk. But not before making plans for their second date.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pas de bourrée - Literally 'beating steps,' it's a ballet step in which the legs cross while traveling.
> 
> ¡Hola! - Hello
> 
> colada - Cuban colada is a jumbo sized cup of multiple shots of café Cubano. The espresso is brewed with demerara sugar and is very sweet, and very strong. Colada is meant to be shared. 
> 
> Prima - Cousin
> 
> lo prometo - I promise
> 
> clave - Percussion, can refer to the rhythm stick instruments or the beat they make
> 
> guapea - Literal definition is 'to swagger,' in Cuban Salsa it is the basic open step
> 
> ño - Short for coño, which is a slang term for vagina. Cuban slang tends to use genital terms as all-purpose interjections and expletives.
> 
> ¡Madre de Dios! - Mother of God
> 
> guapo - handsome


	8. Don't bring tricks, it's not the stick it's you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith start figuring out their routine. Hunk, Shay, Pidge and Matt start figuring out their science project. Haggar is not a woman to be trifled with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the kudos! You are all awesome!
> 
> "Your lips are chocolate candy. You taste like chocolate candy, yeah. Sweet coral lips kiss me just one more kiss." - Chocolate Candy, performed by Menudo

 

Saturday morning, Hunk managed to hold his peace through most of the Menudo album playing on the classic car’s tape deck, before finally breaking during “Chocolate Candy.”

“So…”

“Yes he kissed me, alright?”

“Called it!” Hunk did a reasonable impression of Success Kid without losing contact with the steering wheel.

“What about you Romeo, did you kiss goodnight?”

“Ay bendito Lance, a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“Aw c’mon acere, I clung desperately to the back of a motorcycle for you.”

“And you were richly rewarded for it, pana.”

Lance leaned back on the houndstooth upholstery, enjoying the breeze coming in through the passenger side quarter window. “I cannot deny that.”

Lance had talked Father Shannon into keeping him on as a standby member of the choir, which allowed him to stay on the roll while skipping a number of the rehearsals. This fine morning Hunk was dropping Lance off to meet Keith at the TV studio for an appointment with Coran. Afterwards Lance and Keith planned to ride over to Newberry Library to join up with the rest of the crew, who were going to be spending their morning researching gastronomy.

DTV was filmed downtown in a masonry-clad skyscraper known as the Arus building. Hunk pulled up behind a CTA bus idling at the curb close to the building to let Lance out.

“Don’t spend too much time making out, we want to meet up for lunch in a few hours and it’d be cool if you guys were on time.”

“Please, I can control myself.” Admit to one kiss and all of the sudden people think you’re a sex maniac.

“Who said it was your libidinal urges I was talking about?” Hunk pulled away from the curb. “See ya!” 

Lance went in through the revolving doors, which opened to a classy lobby with ceramic tile flooring and glass bowl ceiling fixtures. Keith was already there, standing by the welcome desk in black harem pants and a red tank and hoodie. Talk about some libidinal urges. As the cartoon cat-thing said, hello nurse.

“Actually, I didn’t plan on going into medicine.”

Oops, did Lance say that out loud? “Can I call you bonbon then?”

“Only if I get to call you honey buns.”

_“Lance Cárdenas_ _Martinez_ _and Keith Kim, please proceed to Studio 2A, you are expected.”_  

“Here ya go, sweetie.” The receptionist leaned across the desk to hand two visitor’s passes to Keith as he and Lance were being paged over the building’s public address system.

“How come you let a stranger call you sweetie but you won’t let me call you nicknames?” Lance asked as they shuffled over to the bank of elevators.

“Because you give me embarrassing nicknames.” Keith passed Lance a visitor’s pass, which he promptly clipped to his anorak.

“Like what?”

“Mullet,” Keith replied as they stepped into the laminate-paneled elevator. “Cabrón. Cheeseball. Emperor Bossypants. Guapo. Nurse. Bonbon. And oh yeah, Mullet.”

Ouch. That was fair. And that wasn’t even counting the ones he hadn’t voiced out loud. Lance pressed the button for the second floor. “I’m sorry Keith.”

Suddenly he had an armful of warm Keith backing him into the handrail.

“I like it when you say my real name,” said Keith from up very close, eyes huge and glinting darkly.

Lance let his hands roam down Keith’s jersey-clad back and venture to the low country of his rear. “I like it when you wear tight pants,” came out before he could stop himself.

Keith’s smile was sharp and dangerous at this vantage point. He pressed their cheeks together, his breath a warm puff on Lance’s ear. “I like thinking about what’s underneath of yours.”

“Oh yeah?” It was getting very humid in this elevator.

“Yeah. You keep talking about your panties. I think I’d like to see them.”

Oh my. The truth was, Lance only owned a couple of pairs and he didn’t actually wear them that often. For one, it was too risky to wear under his uniform when you never knew if there was going to be an inspection. It was strictly boxer briefs for school days. For two, he nearly always wore a dance belt when he knew he was going to be doing any strenuous dancing. A skimpy but essentially non-glamorous dance belt. Like what he was wearing right now, because he was pretty sure Coran wanted to see what they’d come up with so far.

But if Keith liked panties this much, then Lance would buy a pair for every day of the week, hot damn.

*Ding!*

The elevator doors opened to an empty hallway, but the click of high heels somewhere nearby promised imminent discovery.

“Rain check on the panties.” There was a phrase that Lance had never thought would ever pass his lips.

“Count on it.” Keith kissed Lance on the corner of his mouth and then strolled out of the elevator like he hadn’t just caused a boner to happen. The little shit.

Lance took a moment to deliberately work up a mental image of what could happen if Allura were to walk in on them. It sent a shiver down his back and frightened most of the lust right out of him. It worked better than a cold shower or thinking about baseball, anyway.

He caught up to Keith in the reception foyer for Studio 2A, and stood close behind him.

“I’m not opposed to you calling me honey buns,” he said low into Keith’s ear.

Keith turned his head to look over his shoulder at Lance incredulously.

“Just putting that out there,” Lance said.

A polite cough interrupted whatever Keith was going to say to that. An older lady rocking a shawl and blazer ensemble had opened the door separating the foyer from the rest of the suite, and was smiling at them in a way that let Lance know she’d been standing there for long enough to amuse herself. How bad did Lance have it that he didn’t even notice the door open before he’d decided to whisper in Keith’s ear?

“Keith and Lance?” she asked. When they nodded, she said, “I’m Ollie Ryner, the floor manager. Come with me, I’ll take you to Coran.”

She led them through a warren of cramped offices and rooms stacked to the ceiling with technical equipment before emerging into a much larger space. A very familiar space, once you looked past the cameras and assorted cables snaking all over the floor around it. Coran was standing in the middle of it, looking very much at home.

“Ah, you’re here!” His voice carried clear across the open space even without a mic. “Glad to see you, come on over, don’t be shy.”

“I can’t believe we’re in here,” Lance breathed as they were led carefully over the cable-strewn floor. He stared all around at the set he’d daydreamed about for years. There were the three tiers lit up in neon teal where the dancers would hop up and do stationary moves when a particular couple took center stage. And there was the DTV logo in high relief on the back wall. Directly across from that was a sea of gloaming, which Lance squinted into and spotted the faint shine of metal on upright chairs and ceiling mounted boom arms. It was where the studio audience would sit, but the house lights were currently off.

“Believe it.” Keith was trying to be cool, but Lance recognized the significance of that little cat grin now. He was excited too.

“Thank you Ms. Ryner, your assistance is appreciated as always,” Coran said as they drew near. Lance and Keith stumbled out their thanks as well, both of them still trying to look at everything at once, Keith only being slightly more subtle about it.

“I’ll be in the control room if you need me.” Ms. Ryner winked at them and then picked her way back in a different direction like a fawn skipping over tree roots. Lance had to give her mad props for being able to do that so gracefully in high-heeled booties.

“I suppose you’re both wondering why we’re meeting here instead of in my office,” Coran said.

“Are we here to look at the stage?” Lance asked as Keith looked at him quizzically. “Well it makes sense for us to get at least one personal visit to the place where we’re going to be competing.” He’d guessed Keith’s competition background was more of a flash mob kind of thing where you worked with what you had on arrival, and his current reaction seemed to confirm it.

“Right you are young man.” Coran grinned at them. “Take a good long wander, don’t worry, I’ll wait. I want you to consider everything that you’ve seen used on TV as useful to you, because if our studio dancers have danced on it, you can too.”

Lance and Keith exchanged wide-eyed glances and then wasted no time jumping on every tier around the stage.

“However, I ask that you please refrain from using the sign,” Coran called out. “For insurance purposes, we cannot have you leaping or hanging off of it.”

Keith actually pouted.

“Hey we can still use the tiers though.” Lance put a hand on his shoulder. “The top tier is pretty high.”

“Yeah that does look useful for stunts,” Keith agreed.

“Lots of room for tricks, too.” Lance noted the increased comfort to his feet since stepping onto the teal and cream patterned stage area. “Is this a sprung floor?” he asked Coran.

“Of course.”

“Sweet!”

Coran ambled closer with his hands behind his back. “Have you boys given any thought to your choreography yet?”

Lance and Keith traded fleeting looks.

“We’ve been learning each other’s dance styles, trying to get comfortable with each other,” Keith said.

“Oh? And what have you gleaned?”

“Keith picked up social dancing super fast,” Lance said.

“Lance can hold his own at street dancing,” Keith admitted.

“Excellent!” Coran looked pleased. “Now, how will you marry your styles together?”

“I think we should use intervals of synchronized moves and partnered moves,” Keith said, looking to Lance for corroboration.

Lance nodded. “I agree. It would make the most of what we’re both best at.”

“That’s good for a start,” said Coran. “It might help you both to voice what you would consider your non-negotiables.”

“I refuse to dance in the nude.” Keith crossed his arms. “The buck naked stops here.”

“That’s not really what I meant,” said Coran, after staring at Keith for a full beat. “And also inadvisable, you can hurt your groin doing that. Dance belts exist for a reason, young man. No, what I meant was, are there any dance moves you consider must-haves for your routine? Any dance moves you’re not keen on? This is important to hash out before you begin choreographing in earnest.”

“I want footwork,” Keith said; Coran nodded like he’d expected as much.

“I want to dip.”

Keith looked at Lance askance, Coran with raised eyebrows.

“What? It’s my favorite dance move.” It was the most romantic dance move ever in Lance’s estimation, whether he was the lead or the follow. It required trust and cooperation to get it right.

“I want to do those turns,” Keith said.

“Natural turns?” Lance smiled.

“Yeah, I like those.”

“I noticed,” Lance smirked. “I vote for body rolls.”

“Seriously?” Keith rose to the bait. “You keep laughing your ass off when we do those in practice.”

“That’s because you get this look on your face like you’re stuck in line at the DMV.”

Coran cleared his throat to get their attention. “Anything you don’t feel good about?” Coran peered between the two of them. “Best to have it out now than wait and discover it late in the game.”

“I’m not real comfortable with overhead lifts yet,” Keith said sheepishly. “I’d want a lot more practice before trying that again.”

“That’s understandable,” Coran said. “If you’re new to partnered dance, you’ll want to master the aeroplane before attempting anything like a swan lift. How about you, Lance?”

“I’m nowhere near Keith’s level for floorwork,” Lance admitted.

“Good to know and room to grow.” Coran clasped his hands together in front of him. “I feel very encouraged by your progress. How about a little demonstration of what you’ve done so far?” Coran signaled to the control booth and Ms. Ryner obliged him by flooding the set with FM Attack’s “Corazon.”

Keith came towards Lance with hip twists, and Lance mirrored him. As soon as he was within reach, Lance pulled him into a natural spin turn and was rewarded with that laugh that made Lance feel like a big damn hero just for inciting it. Then Keith did a circle glide out of Lance’s arms.

Lance shuffled in pursuit. When he had Keith in reach again, he pulled him into setenta. With a sharp grin that meant trouble, Keith tightened their closed position and wined on Lance. Like the elevator hadn’t been bad enough! That boy played dirty. Lance tried pulling Keith into a cuddle turn, but he wasn’t having any of that cute stuff. He grabbed Lance by the shoulders, hips ticking like a clock. Lance gave up fighting the R rated moves and rolled back on Keith.

“Oh, you like that?”

“Damn skippy.”

Keith laughed. “Who says that?”

“Well, I just did.” Lance threw in some chest bumps. “And my hips don’t lie.”

“Pretty sure that’s your chesticles talking to me right now.”

“All right then!” Coran interjected, but he was smiling so he couldn’t have been too offended. “Dirty dancing is not discouraged on DTV by any means, but you might not want to make it the featured section of your routine. We do try to ride the line between suggestive and explicit. I recommend using those moves for transitions instead.”

Coran made some more recommendations, and listened intently to their feedback. He seemed fascinated by Keith’s passionate argument for updating DTV’s repertoire. They also talked about the music (“we’ve received an offer for a different song than what we were originally planning to go with, but I think you’ll like it”), the costumes (Lance wanted to bare his belly button, Keith didn’t, Coran told them their costumes didn’t have to be too matchy matchy which was a big relief) and one last bit of advice.

“Keith, I notice that when you’re not directly engaged with Lance, your facial expressions… well… I believe the proper term is RBF.”

“If you think mine’s bad, you should see my brother’s,” Keith snerked.

“Is your brother going to be competing on DTV as well?”

Keith’s expression went straight past RBF to full-on stink face. “Okay I get your point.”

Coran made a placating gesture with his hands. “I’m only saying this because you’re the best acrobatic dancer I’ve ever seen and I want you to get a fair shot. Television is a medium that will always seek out your face, so you always need to be aware of it, the same way that you’re already aware of the rest of your body in the dance.”

Keith seemed to take that recommendation in the spirit with which it was intended. They made a follow-up appointment to meet with Coran’s PA for a costume check and then took their leave.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance had a lot of nerve commenting on the tightness of Keith’s pants when he was walking around in meggings. His every stride seemed to be saying, ‘get a load of these gams.’  Then there was that longline t-shirt with the zipper up the front. Keith had been itching to get his hands on that zipper for over an hour now.

Surely Pidge wouldn’t be too mad if they were just a little bit late for lunch. As soon as the elevator doors closed, he pounced.

“How you doin’?” Lance grinned that great big stupid grin that made Keith simultaneously want to kiss him and pinch his lips together. Keith moved in for the former, but Lance’s gaze moved past his shoulder. “Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not, but I think you should know that there’s a camera in here.”

“Security guy’s about to get an eyeful then.” ZIP!

“So impatient.”

Keith stared down at the lean muscles of Lance’s tan chest and belly as he crowded him against the handrail. “You’ve been driving me crazy with this damn shirt.” Lance’s nipples perked up like nonpareils in the cool open air. Keith ran his hands up the smooth skin of Lance’s sides, watched the challenge rise in his eyes. The fact that he still had the anorak on somehow made it even better.

“Elevator’s maybe not the best place to be doing this.” He sounded breathless.

“I know.” Keith leaned into Lance’s radiant heat and kissed him. His right hand wandered down and back, gripping a firm cheek, and met no panty line that he could discern. “Are you even wearing underwear?” Keith couldn’t believe how poreless Lance’s face was from up close, so he kissed him again just to make sure he was real.

“I’m wearing a dance belt,” Lance said between the kisses.

Keith vaguely remembered Coran saying something about that. “What is a dance belt?”

“It’s kind of like a jockstrap.”

Oh.

“But also kind of like a thong.”

OH! 

“I want to see it.”

*Ding!*

Lance flailed against the handrest, swearing in Spanish.

“Sorry!” Keith reluctantly let go of Lance and turned around. Luckily there was nobody outside the elevator, so he pressed the button to keep the door open longer and spread out his hoodie as far as it would cover. “Quick, before somebody comes.”

Lance spat out some more probably choice words and then there was a zipping sound before he walked right up against Keith’s back, warm and solid. “You owe me an epic make out session.” His voice was close enough to Keith’s ear for him to feel the vibrations in his cartilage.

Keith couldn’t help the grin that took over his face. “Name the time and place, honey buns.”

“NOT in an elevator.” Lance swept past Keith in a flurry of artificially chilled air scented with a whiff of that dewy aftershave he wore and an enticing soupçon of his sweat.

Irritated Lance was always kind of hot, if Keith was being perfectly honest. He followed at a safe enough distance to avoid a well-lobbed barb and still watch dat ass twitch across the lobby.

Lance stopped at the revolving door and turned around, backlit by the midday sun streaming in from outside and gilding his skin and hair. Sometimes he was kind of hot and other times he was just so damn pretty Keith could hardly stand it. His cell phone played a bar of “Technologic,” so he pulled it out of his hoodie pocket just to look at the screen and get the sunspots out of his eyes.

 

Minor change of plans we’re all going to Hunk’s.

Ask Lance for directions if ur not too busy mackin.

 

Keith snorted and tapped.

 

And we thank you for your support.

 

Pidge responded almost instantly.

 

Binch I keep it real.

 

Keith had been looking forward to the macking, but maybe Hunk had a corner of his house where a person could get lost for a couple of minutes. Or two people. For a couple of hours. He enjoyed thinking about that on the ride to Humboldt Park with Lance’s long thighs clenched around his hips.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

When they got to Hunk’s house, it was crowded. In addition to Pidge’s science posse, there were three to five little girls who all looked like Hunk playing a game of hide and seek. It was hard to tell for sure how many because they kept dashing in and out of rooms too fast, just a flash of dark hair and flying skirts. Their mother had gone to a Mommy and Me class with the baby, leaving the older kids with the run of the house, and they were running all over it.

Keith guided Lance towards a quiet looking alcove off the front room and it turned out to have a little girl hiding in it. She sprang up from behind a club chair and ran shrieking and giggling up the stairs.

Lance cackled and turned to Keith. “Maybe we better save that epic make out session for later.”

“Yeah I’m not interested in having an audience for that.” Keith wound his arms around Lance’s trim waist and pulled him close. “I want to get you alone before I finally get to see what you’ve been hiding under there.” He patted Lance’s behind. He liked dance butts and he could not lie.

Lance looped his arms around Keith’s shoulders. “I haven’t really been hiding it, per se.”

“You’ve been tantalizing me with the thought of it.”

“Keith.” Lance kissed one cheekbone. “Mi Vida.” And the other. “You have been tantalizing yourself.”

“What?” Keith was mortally offended by the implication he was that thirsty. But with Lance all cuddled up next to him smelling so good and feeling so fun to hold, he… oh hell, he was thirsty.

Quick, to the distractionmobile! “What does true coo too mean?” Hunk was playing some music in the kitchen that could be heard all over the house, and the singer kept saying that.

“Trucutu?” Lance grinned and started that hip rocking action that drove Keith crazy. “It’s the sound of the conga drums.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Keith rolled back. “Be serious.”

“I am being serious,” Lance scoffed. “It’s onomatopoeic. For that insult, you now owe me a dance at a time and place of my choosing.” Their hips were now rocking in perfect sync. “That’s in addition to the epic make out sesh.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.” Keith looked into Lance’s eyes. “Cross my heart. But I do intend on paying up.”

“That’s good.” Lance’s smile promised naughty things. “Because you’re racking up the I.O.U.s and I intend to collect.”

“Oh my eyes.” Pidge stood in the alcove entryway with a hand thrown in front of their face. “Think of the children.”

“They all ran away from here,” Keith said, looking around. “I think?”

“I was referring to myself.”

“You’re my witness Lance. Pidge just admitted to being a child.”

“I have a feeling that’s a retractable statement.”

“You guys have to try this!” Hunk rushed in wearing an apron and carrying a tray bearing what looked like enormous meatballs on sticks. They smelled delicious. Keith had one in his hand in less than two seconds from the moment they appeared near his face.

“Keith want.” Lance leaned into Keith’s side. “Keith grab.”

“Him Tarzan, you jailbait.” Pidge plucked a meatball on a stick off the tray.

“Shut it.” Keith took a big honking bite. “Hey, there’s egg in here.” There was a small hardboiled egg right smack in the middle of the large meatball, like a nesting doll of carnivorous delight.

“Ooh, gimme!” Lance reached one long arm past Keith, brushing his chest and sending little sparks zipping up his torso as he snatched up his own treat. “My precious!” The precious was gone in three bites.

“Glad to see the albóndigas are a hit.” Hunk looked justifiably pleased with himself. “Come on back to the kitchen, I just took the focaccia out of the oven. Hopefully Matt’s done slicing it and hasn’t helped himself to too much of it.”

“You trusted him alone with focaccia?!” Pidge led the charge to the kitchen, where they found Matt with a half-eaten slice in his hands. He stuffed it into his cheek like a chipmunk as soon as he caught sight of his sibling.

The remaining slices were still warm and fragrant with the sharp scent of rosemary. Keith’s mouth watered at the memory of savory goodness, having been treated to it at the Holt residence whenever either of Matt and Pidge’s Italian grandmothers came to visit. Hunk’s four little sisters appeared out of nowhere to help them devour the rest of the pan. The focaccia was too good for this world.

Shay laughed shamelessly at their antics. Then she pulled a tray of soda muffins out of the oven and was nearly bowled over by hungry people. The pack of assorted teens and children barely waited for the baked goods to cool before popping them out of the tray, ‘ouching’ and tossing them in vain attempts to cool them faster. They were like salty-sweet biscuits with raisins in them. And in very short order, they were also gone. And so were the four little girls, no doubt sensing clean-up time was approaching.

“It’s a pleasure working in your test kitchen, Hunk,” Pidge said, brushing crumbs off their t-shirt, an acid green number with a leprechaun decal and the declaration ‘they don’t believe in you either.’

“It’s a pleasure having so many enthusiastic taste testers,” Hunk replied, placing an arm around Shay’s shoulders. “We just need a few more recipes to try out and then we’ll have enough of a rotating menu that I can take our pitch to Salazar.

“Lance, Keith, I need to know your favorite childhood treats. For science.”

“Pastelitos,” Lance said with no hesitation.

“Guava?”

“That’s my favorite. I like coconut too.” He smiled wistfully. “My mom makes the best.”

Lance’s mom was still alive? Keith didn’t know why he’d assumed Lance was also an orphan. But then, why was he living with his cousin?

“That’s a tough act to follow dude, but I’ll do my best.” Hunk turned expectantly to him. “How about you Keith?”

Keith flashed on a memory of Halmoni leaning down and beaming at him in her frock apron that she always wore when she was cooking. The linen garment with the side buttons now lay folded in the bandaji chest in the attic, along with other mementos he couldn’t bear to part with or display. “Yakgwa,” he said.

“Like your nonna made?” Matt’s gaze was bright with understanding. “They’re like cookies but they’re fried?” he explained to Hunk. “Keith’s grandmother would always tell us to eat up because they were good for us.”

“As far as I was concerned they were freaking awesome for us,” Pidge said.

“They sound awesome.” Hunk’s brown eyes widened with the possibilities. “I hope I do them justice.”

Keith couldn’t help but smile at his earnestness. “If they’re anything as good as what you made today, I’m sure you will.”

Later, with their hands in warm sudsy water as their friends argued good-naturedly in the next room over which old scifi movie to put in the DVD player, Keith’s curiosity finally overcame his ingrained reticence. “Lance?”

Lanced hmmmed and looked over. “Yeah?” He looked very contented for a guy stuck on KP duty.

“How come you don’t live with your mom?”

Lance sucked in a breath, his hands stilled in the water.

“Forget it; you don’t have to answer that. I’m being too nosy.” Keith felt like a heel.

“No, no.” Lance sighed. “It’s a fair question. How to explain this?”

Keith waited patiently while Lance gathered his thoughts, the only sounds the clink of dishes and slosh of water, and the murmur of voices from the front room.

“My parents want the best for me. For all of us.” Lance smiled at Keith. “I have four sisters and two brothers.”

“Whoah.”

Lance laughed. “Yeah I know, it’s a lot.”

“I have one too. A brother. I mean, I only have the one. He’s my legal guardian though.”

Lance was now regarding him with quiet concern.

“Sorry, you were talking. I won’t keep interrupting. Um, you were saying?”

“You know, you can talk too. It doesn’t have to be just about me.”

Keith got very invested in scouring out a pan. “I know.”

“Okay. Well. I guess I got the luck of the birth order draw because when Allura, that’s my cousin, decided she was ready to put a relative through private school, my grades were good enough and I was just the right age that it was me. I got to go.”

“That doesn’t sound entirely like luck to me.”

Lance chuffed out a laugh. “Guess I beat out my cousin Bocar by this much.” Lance brought his soapy hands out of the water and held them slightly apart. “One of my brothers is just a year ahead of me, and one of my sisters just a year behind, and they were just as good at their studies as me. Better even. If Allura had been ready just a year earlier or later, it wouldn’t have been me.” Lance shook his head. “Sometimes I still have trouble believing it was me.”

Keith reached over and pinched Lance on the forearm.

“Um, OW?”

“Sorry. Just seemed like you needed that.”

“Thanks.” Lance smiled dryly and shook his head. “Anyway, Allura picked me. My parents would never waste a chance like that, for any of us, so. They had to let me go.”

“But you still see them, right?”

“I call them on the phone. And write letters.”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“Over three years ago,” Lance said. “When they put me in Tio’s truck to drive to Varadero Airport.”

Three years? Keith couldn’t imagine going that long without being able to talk to Shiro in person. “Can you Skype?”

Lance smiled, more genuinely this time. “Cuban internet is only legal in public places. It’s kind of risky for them to call me like that.”

Keith blinked, trying to imagine that. “Well, can you visit?”

“I have to wait.”

“Until when?”

“Until I’m too old to be conscripted.”

Lance was looking glum again so Keith bumped shoulders with him. “Did I ever tell you about the time my big brother was home on leave and went out with his buddies, and when they dropped him off he tripped and lost his keys in the backyard, and then he tried to let himself in through the window, and Halmoni caught him and made him sing “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling” to prove he wasn’t drunk?”

Keith honestly had no clue what possessed him to start that particular story, but Lance’s face brightened with good humor, so: worth it.

“No, you haven’t. Share with the class!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Days passed. Their routine started shaping up in rehearsals at the studio. They practiced synchronized moves, partnered moves, and much to both of their delight and satisfaction, aerials. Lance kept up with Keith’s demanding footwork routine, the balance he’d learned from Salsa serving him well. Keith’s acrobatic prowess helped him pick up tricks with a speed Lance would have envied before he’d gotten to know the boy better and realized the intensity of focus he applied to everything he cared about.

They’d even worked in a lift, of sorts: Keith did a backflip off a stack of mats that was standing in for the studio’s back tier, and then he ‘helped’ Lance down off the tier using a press lift. They were still negotiating the floorwork. Keith seemed to think Lance could do it because he could do some tricks on the pommel horse. Lance had to keep reminding Keith that the floor didn’t have handles, but he could manage a few of the basics that Keith showed him (thanks yoga!) so they were trying to work that in somewhere.

There was just one move still giving them any real trouble, and wouldn’t you know it, it was the dip.

“One more time.” Keith had become as determined as Lance to master the move. “We got this.”

“Okay.”

Both boys were covered in a sheen of sweat from the arduous workout. Keith’s t-shirt clung to his lean frame, joggers riding low on his narrow hips, his hair pulled back in a little ponytail to keep it off his neck. Lance never got tired of looking at him like this.

But he was getting equally familiar with the sight of the ceiling tilting and whirling because of this move. This was a Salsa neck drop, and Lance was the follow. Never let it be said he was anything less than ambitious when he made up his mind to do something. Unlike the ladies he’d practiced this with before as the lead, his center of gravity was not in his hips. It was in his shoulders (consequence of being shaped like a beanpole). So whenever Lance bowed back into the dip, his head was like the tip of an arrow pointed straight at the floor. It was a good thing they were using mats for this, although Lance had gotten to the point where he could catch himself in a back bend about half the time.

Keith pulled Lance into a two hand position, then hauled him in close and gripped the back of his neck. Then he lunged deep with Lance’s neck still in his grip. Lance shot his inside arm out with a fanned hand. He could see them in the mirror, and it looked fucking gorgeous right up until the moment when gravity kicked in and his back hit the mat. Oof.

Lance opened his eyes to find Keith in a raised push up position over him, a concerned pinch to his forehead (which was more visible than usual because his bangs were vertical).

“Hello there.” Maybe Lance’s eyebrows waggled a little bit.

Keith rolled his eyes and rolled off of Lance. Lance turned onto his side and threw a leg over Keith, because he knew Keith would do that back handspring ready to go again and he wanted to lay there for another second.

“If you could have seen your biceps and shoulders all flexed out right then, you’d have said the same thing in the same way.”

“No I wouldn’t.” Keith turned his head to the side to meet Lance’s gaze. “Because then I would have been saying it to myself, and that would be weird.”

Lance blew him a raspberry.

“You sprayed me!”

“Oh sorry, let me take care of that.” Lance crept closer and pressed an open mouth kiss on Keith’s lips. “There, all better.”

“I’ll show you better.” Keith shifted onto his side and gripped Lance’s thigh in one hand, his lower lip in his teeth.

Truly this had to be the silliest pretext yet for a make out session on the mats, but whatever worked. They hadn’t gotten any time alone together outside of the studio yet. If getting resin in his hair was Lance’s best chance to get a taste of Keith’s sugar, he’d take it.

He eagerly met the pressure of Keith’s palm as it rose from thigh to hip. Lance was wearing his footless sweater tights today in the hopes that his partner would find the soft knit appealing to touch. He’d sewn a false bottom in his messenger bag so he could hide some things in there without having to smuggle everything in Hunk’s car all the time. The sweater tights seemed to be having the desired effect, as Keith tunneled his fingers under the top hem and discovered the stretchy material had a lot of give.

“Oh.” Keith seemed transfixed by the sight of his own hand pulling Lance’s tights almost completely off one hip. “Is that?”

“My dance belt?” Lance smirked. “Why yes it is.”

Keith touched the wide elastic waistband, ran his fingers around Lance’s hip bone and found the T-back at the cleft of his ass. His palm skimmed lower and met bare flesh. Lance hiked his leg higher over Keith’s to bring their bodies closer together.

“I like this.” Keith’s breath warmed Lance’s face. His dilated pupils made his eyes look softer.

“I like it too.”

Keith closed the remaining short distance to kiss Lance slow and sweet. Lance took advantage of his proximity to get a hand down the back of his joggers and discovered Keith was wearing compression shorts as underwear. No way was Lance going to get so much as a pinky under that tight material, so he moved his hand up under Keith’s t-shirt instead. Keith’s back muscles rippled and flowed under the pads of his fingers, his skin smooth and damp.

Keith moaned and pushed Lance over onto his back and climbed aboard, and Lance would’ve been all about riding the sexytime express except for one thing. Very regretfully, he disengaged from the kiss.

“Keith.”

This only made Keith move his oral ministrations from Lance’s mouth to his neck.

“Ooh that’s nice… No wait, we’re on the floor and I don’t think that door has a lock…”

Keith started to apply his fucking teeth, focusing on a sensitive spot just under the angle of Lance’s jaw.

“I was kinda hoping for a more romantic setting before we got to this part,” Lance groaned.

Keith lifted his head. He looked adorably discombobulated. “What?”

Lance framed Keith’s flushed face with his hands. “Much as I enjoy making out with you in semi-public places, I want some privacy if we’re going to get groiny.”

“That’s not a real word.” But even as he was saying this, Keith was shooting up off the floor and pulling Lance with him. “Come on! Shiro won’t be home for another couple hours at least.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lotor regarded his mother across the rosewood card table as she regarded her hand. On the day after The Incident she’d taken Father’s platinum card to Nordstrom’s and bought one of every cowl neck design they had. Today she wore one in taupe cashmere with the cowl pulled up over her head. It made a harmonious contrast with the rose gold hair peeking jauntily out at the top. Leave it to Mother to make sure that if she couldn’t be flawless she was at least color coordinated.

Directly after The Incident, she had been forced to spend an hour talking to the police before she had been allowed to wash the beet aspic out of her hair, and by then the protein-enriched beet juice had set. A color lift followed by a rose gold rinse had been the best compromise her hairdresser could provide other than shaving it all off and selling her a wig.

And just when blorange was coming into fashion, too. Mother’s hair was not only inappropriate for her age, it was _passé_.

“Mother darling, I hear the dome cap is coming back in vogue.”

Haggar Drule irritably threw a card onto her discard pile, the force of her movements disturbing the cat on her lap. Kova, the blue point Siamese, yowled his annoyance as he leapt to the floor.

“Don’t be an idiot dear,” Haggar said. “Designers have been trying to bring it back for years, it never catches on.”

Lotor tutted. “It’s a shame you know.”

“I don’t think so. No woman wants to look like a pinhead.”

“I meant it’s a shame you forgot that kings are wild. But now that you mention your hair, it is a shame those hooligans never got what they deserved.”

Hooded eyes flicked up to Lotor and back down to the playing cards. “You say that as if you know which hooligans I ought to be directing my ire towards.”

“Obviously it’s someone who doesn’t want me to win the DTV contest.” Lotor glared irritably at his hand. He was going to have to discard and he was out of empty slots.

“Obviously,” Haggar agreed with a narrow look. “Otherwise, however would they have gotten that footage?”

Lotor threw an eight of spades down over a nine of clubs. Now he wouldn’t be able to use that nine until he found a seven. Bother. “Surely your P.I. has discovered something?”

Haggar queened a playing pile and took it off the board. “He traced the video of you dancing inappropriately with that bohunk back to a computer terminal at some bourgeois retail establishment.”

“Then you can find out who it was!”

Haggar scoffed. “Not without a search warrant.”

“So?” Lotor took a swig of his Bloody Mary. “Get one.”

“And keep this entire affair in the public eye indefinitely while the police investigate and the gossipmongers at the club grow ever more twitterpated?” Haggar sipped her Kir. “No thank you.”

Lotor felt a snarl trying to work past his social mask and hid his face behind his hand of cards. “That P.I. was a waste of money if he couldn’t even get a description of the person who ruined my party.”

“Oh I didn’t say that.”

Lotor stared at his mother over his hand as she tapped out a Pall Mall from the pack on the table.

“He was able to get a description from the shop boy who was working there that day.” She lit the cigarette and inhaled, eyes closed. “Nothing that’s admissible in court, more’s the pity.”

“Mother.”

Haggar finally looked back in his direction, a curl of smoke trailing upwards as she exhaled. “Yes dear?”

“Who was it?”

A flicker of satisfaction moved across Haggar’s features before settling back into the studied malaise she’d been wearing all evening. “There were two scrawny Caucasian children with roan hair. And one Asian boy with a mullet.” She tapped ash into a cut lead crystal ashtray. “I do hope you can find them, dearest.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay bendito - Literally "oh, blessed," it is a common interjection in Puerto Rican Spanish, intent is determined by context and inflection. 
> 
> acere - Literal translation is 'smelly' but in Cuban slang it is a familiar term for a friend.
> 
> pana - Literal translation is 'breadfruit,' in Puerto Rican slang it means 'buddy.'
> 
> Mi Vida - Literal translation is 'my life,' it is used as a term of endearment.
> 
> Tio - Uncle


	9. Don't be afraid to let them show, your true colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith enjoy each other's company, until untimely interruptions occur. Shiro and Allura discover that their wards know each other. An undergarment finally puts in an appearance, after a fashion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have my never-ending thanks for the kudos, and a special and belated shout out to lovelysandlonelys for the comment, thank you so much!
> 
> "Believe in me, believe that life can change, that you're not stuck in vain. We're not the same, we're different tonight." - Tonight, Tonight, performed by The Smashing Pumpkins

 

“True Colors” started playing on Lance’s phone while Keith was busy opening the garage door. Lance flicked the screen to read what Hunk had to say.

 

 Lance don’t rush. Take care of u.

 

Lance smiled, touched by his friend’s concern. He tapped back.

 

Don’t worry buddy :) I trust Keith.

 

The garage lights came on, revealing two empty parking mats, a 10 speed hanging from the ceiling and a truly impressive set of tool racks taking up most of the back wall. A folding wall-mounted rack with barbells and a colorful set of bumper plates took up part of the left side wall.

 

And I trust you. But call me if u need anything k?

 

Keith rolled the red and black motorcycle onto the right side parking mat and looked over his shoulder. “You coming?”

 

10-4

 

“Yeah.” Lance put his phone away and followed Keith through a door on the side of the garage that let out into a long, narrow backyard. A stone path led from the door to the back deck of the house, motion sensor floodlights revealing the way as they walked.

Keith reached behind him and Lance took his hand almost without thinking about it. They did this so often in dance practice that now it felt like second nature.

“Watch your step,” Keith said. The bungalow’s modest back deck had at some point in time been expanded into a two level. What looked like an outdoor table was tucked under the portico on the upper level; on closer inspection it was actually some kind of flat top grill. A fish-shaped wind chime swung merrily over their heads as Keith let them into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not for food,” Lance admitted.

“Good, because I forgot to shop again.” Keith grinned sheepishly.

Lance laughed as they both set their bags on the entryway bench just inside the kitchen door.

“Take off your shoes, I’ll show you my bedroom.”

“Um, okay.”

Keith took off his high-tops and Lance followed suit with his dance sneakers, stacking them on a shoe rack cleverly hidden inside the entryway bench. He traipsed barefoot after Keith through a room with a rectangular teak table in the center punctuated by a stained glass chandelier. Office chairs were pulled up to the table, and computers set up on top of it. There was a small grouping of framed photos on one wall, but they were moving too fast for Lance to get a good look at the pictures.

“Was that the dining room?”

“Yeah, we don’t eat in there anymore.”

Keith pulled him into a hall and to the right. Lance got a glimpse of a pop art shower curtain in the bathroom off the hall before he was led into a very well-lived in bedroom. Floating shelves crammed with curios lined every wall, making way only for the windows, a cool-looking chest of drawers shaped like stairs, an entertainment console against one wall and a platform bed against the opposite wall. A purple hippopotamus pillow pet peeked out from between a satiny gold mattress pad and a red jacquard comforter.

Lance stepped towards a shelf to peer closer at an action figure model that caught his eye. “Wing Zero?”

“Yeah.” Keith tried to look nonchalant. “He took me most of a weekend.”

“Nice job!” He meant it. Getting the feathers to look like that must have been a patience-trying pain in the ass.

“Thanks.” Keith smiled that tiny smile that Lance knew meant he was pleased and trying not to show how much.

“I like your room.” Lance had never had such a fascinatingly busy room, not even when he still lived with his parents. His brother Charles had painted murals all over the walls of their shared room, but as vibrant as that was it had not reflected his own personality like this room did for Keith. Nor had any room he’d occupied in a place while living with Allura, because he just hadn’t stayed in one place long enough to make a permanent stamp on it.

“It looks a lot better with you in it.”

Lance beamed at Keith. “You know just what to say to a fella.”

“You know where else you’d look good?” Keith advanced on him slowly.

“Don’t say ‘on me’ dude. That’s just cheesy.” Lance held his ground.

“I was actually gonna say in my bed.” Keith closed the distance and put his hands on Lance’s shoulders. “Let’s find out.” He gave a little shove and Lance let himself fall backwards, where he landed with a soft ‘floomf’ as two layers of memory foam absorbed the impact.

“What do you know.” Keith stood over him with a cat-got-the-cream smile. “I was right.” Then he pounced.

Lance felt a thrill tingle through his extremities at the sensation of being hemmed on all sides by lean muscles and that sharp grin. “What are you going to do with me now that you’ve got me here?”

Keith leaned down eye to eye with Lance. “I’ll do this.” He tasted his lips. Nice.

“Do that again.”

He did. Slowly he settled his weight over Lance’s body. It felt indescribably perfect. Lance locked his ankles behind Keith’s legs to keep his precious mass from sliding away.

Keith leaned up on his elbows, panting, lips flushed vermilion from kissing. “I need to see you.”

Lance crossed his arms and grabbed the hem of his performance tee and pulled it up, arching his back to get it over his head. Keith sat back on his heels to help him get his arms loose and flung the t-shirt to the floor.

Keith stared. “So pretty.”

Lance felt the blush warming his cheeks. “Your turn.”

Keith tossed off his v-neck one-handed, eyes never veering from their target, which appeared to be-

“Are you looking at my nips?” Lance cupped his pecs mock-demurely.

“Don’t hide them.” Keith reached down and plucked his hands away from their protective posture, holding them out. Keith’s delts and biceps stood out beautifully in abduction. “Your skin is so fucking perfect, how do you do that?”

“I steal sugar scrub out of Allura’s bathroom.” This was like Keith’s secret weapon, his ability to make Lance vocalize things that he never meant to say out loud through the sheer force of his hotness. Thank everything the boy seemed completely unaware of the power he wielded.

“You look sweet,” was all Keith said in response to that accidental admission, and then he swooped down and took Lance’s left nipple into his mouth.

Lance closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation of wet heat on sensitive flesh. Blindly, he put his hands into silken hair, pulling out the hair tie to let the strands fall free. His fingers trailed down to trace the tensed muscles under the velvety skin of Keith’s neck and shoulders. The world shrunk down to the sound of both boys sighing and shifting on the comforter.

Then there was the rattle of a doorknob and a swish of moving air. “Hey Keith, are you- nante kotta!” And then the clunk of a door closing hurriedly.

Two pairs of eyes opened wide.

“Oh shit, Shiro’s home early!” Keith leapt off the bed with remarkable alacrity, given that it wasn’t an innerspring. Lance savored his last glimpse of an alabaster torso that could have been sculpted by Michelangelo before Keith covered it with Lance’s t-shirt. “I’ll be right back.” And then he was out the door.

Lance slid off the bed and plucked up Keith’s t-shirt. It smelled like him: spicy soap and hot boy sweat, and the distant memory of Tide. He put it on. The material had less stretch than the one Keith had inadvertently stolen from him; it was a denser weave, with the buttery softness that came of surviving many trips in the wash. Lance was never giving it back.

He ran a hand through his hair and followed the sound of voices towards the kitchen, then paused in the dining room to take in the photographs on the wall.

There were four of them, arranged harmoniously in resin frames with tiny inset calligraphy cards. One showed a serenely attractive couple in wedding attire, posed in front of a large circular wall ornament with a geometric symbol inside of it. Its card read _Eugene and Minnie_. Another photo pictured a blond man in dress uniform standing arm in arm with a lovely bride in a high necked dress, a flyaway veil foaming about her graceful shoulders. _Keith and Takako_. Next to that one was a photo of a radiant young woman in formal dress uniform, captured eternally sharing a laugh with an elegantly handsome man in a tuxedo. _Ryou and Hana_. The photo with place of pride in the arrangement was of the same radiant woman, older and smiling in an ivory slip dress, her brown hair loose and uncovered. Next to her stood a magnetically good-looking man in a sleek grey suit, and at her elbow stood a young boy, dressed like the man, but who had the woman’s grey eyes. _Ken and Hana with Takashi_.

Lance tore himself away from the stories implied by the wedding photos. He was pretty sure the next chapter was waiting for him in the kitchen.

Keith stood with his back to the dining room, so it was the older brother who spotted Lance first, over Keith’s shoulder, grey eyes set in a matinee idol face studying him steadily. The guy had a badass scar across the bridge of his nose, and if Keith was Michelangelo’s _David_ then his brother was Bandinelli’s _Hercules_. Lance really hoped the dude was friendly towards Keith’s dates.

Holy shit, he hoped Keith’s brother knew he was gay. Keith had never seemed like he was hiding it, but if he was and big brother wasn’t open minded, Lance might have to grab Keith’s hand and run for where he hoped the front door was located.

“So, um, Lance, right?” Keith’s brother raised one hand behind his head to scratch the back of his strong neck, popping a manly bicep. “I’m Shiro. Keith’s brother. It’s nice to meet you.”

Lance risked a glance at Keith, whose high color looked more like embarrassment than emergency. Well. He did just get caught with his mouth clamped around Lance’s nipple.

“Yep that’s me, I’m glad to finally meet the legend.” Lance pasted a big non-threatening smile on his face and padded further into the room.

“Legend?” Shiro aimed a look at Keith that suggested maybe he knew what kind of stories Keith usually told about him.

Keith turned even pinker. “Shiro brought home sushi.”

“Oh!” Shiro’s gaze traveled to the Harvest Gold Formica table, upon which sat a very large plastic covered dish. “Yeah I got a party tray. You should stay for dinner. They parcel out most of the sushi in pieces of three, so you’ll save me and Keith from fighting over every third one.”

“Except for the Spicy Tuna Roll,” Keith piped up. “I will fight you both for that.”

Lance examined both of their faces. Shiro had a good poker face happening. Keith looked hopeful.

“Okay.”

Lance decided Keith’s smile right then was worth the high probability of being grilled over dinner.

Keith and Shiro proceeded to set the table with a concert of movements that implied long practice together. An array of square ceramic plates and a bottle of soy sauce appeared on the table, along with three pink soft drink cans with cheerful looking kanji on the labels. Shiro set down a long pair of lacquered wooden chopsticks. Keith set out a shorter pair of stainless steel ones, and then, after a moment’s thoughtful hesitation, set out another pair along with a long stainless steel spoon.

“You can use the spoon if you want to,” Keith explained.

“We don’t stand on ceremony here,” Shiro agreed, and now Lance felt honor bound not to use the spoon.

They all sat down. Shiro took the lid off the party tray with a flourish and then steepled his pointer fingers together. “Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub.”

“Dork.” Keith whipped the steel chopsticks up off the table and snatched a sushi roll off the tray with enviable speed and dexterity. “The Spicy Tuna is mine, ha ha! Suck it, losers!”

“No shit talk at the table, Keith.”

And with that, Lance relaxed (as much as one could hope to relax after being caught in bed by the bae’s big muscular legal guardian) and enjoyed the meal.

Lance had tried sushi before. Allura was determined to make him well-rounded and had given him a layman’s education on how to behave in a sushi bar. He knew, for example, that the fish goes in the soy sauce, not the rice. He’d even used chopsticks before, though he couldn’t boast the ridiculous ease that Keith and Shiro were displaying in front of him. There were items on the tray that Lance had tried before, like the California Roll and the Spider Roll, and other items that were completely new to him like the Hokkigai and the Tamago. All of it was delicious, and washed down with a fizzy drink that tasted like strawberries, watermelon and hibiscus flowers all jumped in a blender together, but that Keith said was from one single fruit.

Shiro hadn’t spoken much beyond the expected questions of where Lance went to school and what his interests were. Lance was beginning to wonder if he was just biding his time for a more opportune moment to spring the shovel talk. A more Keithless moment.

“So Lance, it’s getting kind of late, I should drive you home. Wouldn’t want your mother to worry.”

Yep, definitely biding his time. Waiting for the right moment to HIDE HIS BODY OMG.

“Lance’s mom won’t worry, she lives in Cuba.”

And there was Keith, innocently putting it out there how easy it would be to make Lance disappear. Damn it, Keith.

Shiro’s eyes widened almost comically. And beautifully. Did he use eyeliner? “Lance, who do you live with?”

“My cousin Allura, but don’t worry, she’s probably up to her eyeballs in schematics right now, she won’t be upset if I get home a little bit late.” Only because she thought he was with Hunk, but Shiro didn’t need to know that part.

“Shiro, I was going to take Lance home!” Keith looked very put out.

“I don’t want you riding that motorcycle a- did you say Allura?”

Oh. Oh shit. Lance had momentarily forgotten that Keith’s older brother worked for the same company that was financing Allura’s project. This was worse than the shovel talk. Allura would skip the talk and go straight for the shovel.

What were the chances he could convince Shiro that he was talking about a totally different Allura?

“Blue eyes, brown skin,” Shiro breathed. “You’re the ward.”

Right. Slim to none.

Wait a minute.

“You’re the hot pilot?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The three of them were crammed together in Shiro’s beloved black Dodge Warlock. Keith had been expecting him to use this moment to threaten Lance about Keith’s virtue (like he had any room to talk) but instead he kept fixating on the dumbest thing possible.

“She really said I was hot?”

Lance, pressed between Keith and the passenger side door, sighed again. They were sitting so close together that Keith could feel the intake of breath before he heard the gusty exhale. Keith didn’t see any reason to use the bitch seat when the passenger side bucket seat was just big enough to squeeze in shoulder to knee with Lance. They had both hastily changed back into their jeans before leaving the house, sniggering and stealing glances while Shiro waited impatiently outside the bedroom door loudly counting to thirty.

“I asked her if you were hot, and she didn’t deny it. From her, that’s as good as admitting it, dude.”

Shiro was on fucking cloud nine. He was just about as good at hiding extreme emotions as Keith was, but Keith could see through it because he’d been backseat driving almost the whole way and Shiro hadn’t snarked back once.

Speaking of which. “Turn left now Shiro, that minivan is going to speed up and try to cut you off.”

“Right, right…” Shiro turned the wheel to the left. “So…”

“Trust me, she thinks you’re hot.” Lance glanced sidelong at Shiro, his expression uncharacteristically serious in the moonlight. “I’ve seen her talk about guys she likes before.”

“I like her too,” Shiro rushed to say. “I’ve never met anyone like her, she’s…” He got a look on his face that gave Keith secondhand embarrassment and made Lance smile.

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. “She’s that.”

Keith wanted to be happy for Shiro. His brother hadn’t seemed this interested in anyone since the accident. He’d dealt with PTSD during his difficult recovery, and Romelle had tried to see it through, but she just hadn’t been able to handle Shiro’s decision to stay in his job with GALRA after all of that. Keith hoped Lance’s cousin was as stubborn as Shiro was, for Shiro’s sake.

“Okay we’re here. You can park on the street.” Lance pursed his lips looking out the window. “If you can find a spot.”

Shiro had a city sticker for his truck, but it was after ten on a weeknight so the street parking was looking crowded. Keith gave him a smug look. “Still glad you didn’t let me take Lance home on the bike?”

Shiro gifted him with a bitchface for the gods and made a turn around the block. “Ah ha!” A Silverado pulled out of a spot on the corner and Shiro pulled in. “Piece of cake!”

Lance looked worried as they piled out of the truck, and Keith realized he probably still hadn’t mentioned the dance contest to his cousin yet. Keith took Lance’s hand as they hit the sidewalk, and gave it a squeeze. Lance squeezed back.

“Aww.” Shiro was bringing up the rear. “I had this big speech planned for how I’d painfully remove your spleen if you ever hurt my little brother, but you two are so cute right now I’ll save it.”

“Shut up Shiro!” Keith’s voice rang off the concrete, causing someone’s dog to start barking.

“Watch the volume Keith, you’re going to wake up the whole neighborhood,” Shiro grumped.

Keith stole a glance at Lance, who was now trying to hide a smile. Worth it.

The inside of Lance’s building had checkerboard floors that reminded Keith of _Alice in Wonderland_. They took a ride up to the top floor in a fancy old elevator, and then were let into a foyer with a half-moon table holding a brass incense burner, a 7 day candle, a vase of sunflowers and a blue ceramic valet tray where Lane dropped his keys. A blue velvet slipper chair occupied the far wall, underneath a portrait of an older man with a magnificent head of silver hair greeting visitors in silent magnanimity.

“Hey Allura, are you home?” Lance plopped his messenger bag on the chair, wiped his shoes on a rope mat, and veered past a cozy front room which also featured a lot of velvet upholstery. He poked his head into the doorway of a home office that appeared to be empty from how much of it Keith could see over his shoulder. Something in the vicinity smelled like banana fritters.

“Lance?” The voice was female, and the plush accent that dragged out the vowel in Lance’s name sounded British.

All three males turned toward the sound. Shuffling down the hall was a woman Keith could objectively see was very beautiful, even though he felt no personal attraction. He was viewing her mostly in comparison to Lance. She had similar fine bones, long elegant musculature, thick wavy hair and dark blue eyes. Her skin tone, equally flawless, was a deeper shade than Lance’s, and her hair color lighter.

Dusky skin, fair hair, willowy figure: yep she was totally Shiro’s type.

“Oh! Shiro?” She was also wearing college sweats with her hair in a banana clip, which she patted self-consciously. Keith didn’t consider himself a hot girl whisperer like other gay guys of his acquaintance, but he was perceptive enough to tell when a lady was feeling underdressed.

Lance chuckled nervously. “Small world isn’t it? Guess who Keith’s older brother is?”

“Guess what Keith’s older brother caught them doing?” Shiro dropped a hand on each boy’s shoulder. Lance’s whole face turned the shade of a nectarine.

“Shiro you’re making it sound worse than it was!” Keith couldn’t believe him.

Allura (for surely this was she) regarded them both with a raised eyebrow that was much like an expression Keith had seen on Lance’s face, only on her it looked a lot more imperious. This was saying something, considering she was standing there in a jersey knit hoodie with a grease-stained blue lion on the front and the drawstrings noticeably uneven.

“At what point in time were you planning to inform me that you had parted company with Hunk?” She sounded regal too.

“Eh heh well, I wasn’t originally planning on parting ways with Hunk, stuff just kind of happened.”

Lance was more or less telling the truth, just leaving out the part where he had an arranged meet up to practice with Keith between the two occasions when he was supposed to be with Hunk.

“What sort of stuff?”

“Don’t worry.” Shiro’s hand tightened on Keith’s shoulder. “I caught them before they got too many clothes off.”

“Shiro!”

“Use your indoor voice Keith!”

“Are you frying plantains?” Lance sniffed the air like a bloodhound, his nervousness overtaken by something more feral.

Allura’s chin lifted. “Maybe.” The ready stance she shifted into and the spatula still in her left hand said ‘definitely.’

Lance’s lower lip wobbled. “And you weren’t going to share, Prima?”

Allura pointed the spatula at Lance. “Don’t you ‘Prima’ me; you were supposed to introduce me to el querido!”

“I fed him Allura, he shouldn’t be hungry. He might be thirsty though.”

“Shiro!” Maybe it was time Keith reminded him that he knew where he hid his shampoo. It had been too long since his forelock had gotten a taste of cherry Kool-Aid.

“But we didn’t have any dessert; you should share los plátanos maduros and then puedes entrevistarlo.” Lance smiled winningly. “While we eat.”

Allura pursed her lips in another Lance-like expression while she thought about whatever he’d just said. “Claro.” She smiled brightly and half-turned towards the origin of the banana fritter smell. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

That was an impressive 180 degree attitudinal adjustment rivaled in whiplash speed only by what her cousin was capable of, in Keith’s estimation. Shiro was going to have his hands full. Judging by the way he was transfixed by her gluteal charms as she preceded them down the hall, Shiro was fine with that.

She led them past two closed doors and an open door revealing an aquamarine tiled washroom. The hall’s lattice carpet runner terminated in front of a kitchen with painted white cabinets, granite countertops, and stainless steel appliances. A huge cast iron skillet sat on an unlit burner of the gas range. The food had already been moved to an oval platter lined with paper towels on the island. Allura picked up the platter and called over her shoulder, “Lance, start gathering the table settings. You two, come with me please.”

“I can help Lance.”

“Nope.” Shiro released Lance’s shoulder and used his leverage on Keith’s to propel him after Allura into the semi-attached dining room.

She placed the platter at the center of a round pedestal table and invited them to sit in the square-backed dining chairs, then headed back to the kitchen. Shiro’s eyes followed her retreating figure on stalks. Keith took advantage of his momentary distraction to lean over the caramelized medallions on the platter in front of him. The sugary-starchy scent was waking up his appetite.

Lance walked in with four tumblers stacked in one hand and a 2 liter bottle with a pineapple logo in the other. He grinned at Keith just as Shiro was grabbing the back of his jacket to pull him back into his chair.

Lance set out the tumblers, and now Keith could see the top one was filled with ice, which Lance redistributed amongst all of them. Then he opened the pop bottle with a hiss of released pressure and presented it to Keith as if he were holding a bottle of champagne.

“Your pleasure, monsieur?”

Keith tapped the rim of his tumbler. “Hit me garçon.”

“I’d be delighted.” Lance poured.

Keith took an exaggerated whiff over the tumbler. “I detect a bouquet of pineapples and CO2.”

“Your nose is exquisite.”

Keith saw the teasing verbal trap and avoided walking into it by taking a slurp of the pop. His eyes widened. “Wow that’s sweet!”

“You’re welcome.” Lance winked.

Shiro’s face looked like it was about to spontaneously combust. Good. He could suffer from the pun and flirt overload after all that Keith had to put up with from him tonight.

Allura rejoined them carrying a roll of paper towels under her arm, a stack of mismatched plates in one hand and a handful of short forks and a serving spoon in the other. She parceled out the dishes and flatware before swatting Lance with the paper towels. “No te rajes.”

“Okay, okay.” Lance sat down to Keith’s right.

Allura sat between Lance and Shiro, placing her directly across from Keith. She picked up the platter and passed it to Shiro with a smile. “Buen provecho.”

“Thank you.”

Shiro and Allura blushed at each other. Keith and Lance traded a longsuffering look. Then the platter was nudging Keith in the shoulder. He served himself and passed to the right.

The fried plantains softened like honey in Keith’s mouth. He glanced over at Lance, his vantage point giving him a good view of the other boy’s long neck under the amber light of the dining room chandelier. Lance swallowed, and Keith’s eyes followed the working of his throat, down. And that was when he realized Lance was wearing his t-shirt, and he looked damn good in it. And he was wearing Lance’s, and had been most of the night.

Lance’s shirt was a clingier fit than Keith’s, with cap sleeves and a crew neck. He didn’t know why he hadn’t noticed earlier. It’s not like he hadn’t been admiring the same shirt on Lance back at the studio, the way the short sleeves highlighted the toned muscles of his upper arms. Feeling the fine fibers against his own skin reminded him of feeling Lance’s skin on his earlier. He took a swallow of pineapple pop for his suddenly dry throat.

“So Keith, what is your favorite subject in school?”

Incoming! “Um, World Studies. Is my favorite. At school.”

And so began a line of polite but persistent questioning in which Keith was compelled to divulge information from the frivolous (his favorite color was red, duh), to the interesting (Allura liked Satoshi Kon too), to the inevitable stunning of Shiro with information that Keith had been withholding (he was thinking of applying to Columbia College Chicago).

Honestly, the only reason he’d never discussed it with Shiro before was because he didn’t want him getting the notion in his head that he ought to put Keith through college. He really hoped he wasn’t getting that notion now. If he was, Keith was going to put a stop to it. He was tired of Shiro putting his own life on hold to take care of Keith, now that Keith was old enough to do it himself. Even if he didn’t win the DTV contest, Keith could still go into the service like his brother, mother and grandfather before him and get the G.I. Bill. Or he could attend part time, or start at City College and then transfer. There were options, damn it.

Then it came out that Shiro practiced Shin Buddhism, and he and Allura got deeply involved in a comparative religion conversation that mercifully took her laser focus off of Keith.

Lance leaned into Keith’s personal space. “Want to help me clear the dishes?”

“Sure.” Doing the dishes with Lance was more pleasant than a household chore had any right to be.

It quickly became apparent that Lance had no intention of washing the dishes anytime soon. Instead, he piled them in the stoppered sink basin and filled it with soapy water. “They need to soak first,” he said with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle.

Keith reached for the skillet on the range.

“Except for that one.” Lance made a warding gesture. “Allura will straight up murder our asses if we put soap in her cast iron.”

“Good to know.” Keith gingerly put the heavy skillet back on the range. Lance could deal with that one whenever.

Lance took Keith’s hand. “C’mon, I’ll show you my room.”

This could be trouble. Keith was already looking forward to it.

Lance’s room looked surprisingly squared away for a pop culture-obsessed teenage boy. There was a folding bookcase holding an assortment of textbooks and media, with a matching bedside table holding a reading lamp and alarm clock. In the corner crouched a small computer desk with an Ultrabook open on top of it and a task chair rolled up to it. The iron panel bed had a mahogany and leather steamer trunk at the foot of it, a braided rug beside it, and a blue quilted bedspread on top of it. The closet was slightly ajar and had a poster calendar tacked to the door. The only ostentatiously decorative touch was a richly painted batik panel being used as a bedroom curtain.

Suddenly the outsized aspects of Lance’s personality made perfect sense. If he couldn’t let it settle into the space around him over time, he’d have to carry it with him or risk leaving it behind. Keith wanted to tell him he would hold onto some of it for him, but he couldn’t find the words.

“Cat got your tongue?” Lance was smiling and tilting his head in that way that did funny things to Keith’s insides.

“I’ll get your tongue.” How did this boy always make Keith lose his chill so fast?

“That’s just talk until you hmmmm…”  

Keith interrupted his rambling by hauling him in for a kiss. The best way of calling Lance’s bluffs and making him stop talking in the bargain. All benefits, no drawbacks. He pulled up the bottom hem of his own shirt so he could splay his hands against the heat of Lance’s back.

“When were you gonna tell me we switched shirts by accident?” Keith asked an interminable amount of time later.

“Never.” Lance smiled against his lips. “I was never going to tell you.”

“What if I had noticed it missing and asked for it back?” Letting Lance up for air only to take his breath away again was becoming one of Keith’s favorite things in life.

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

“Uh huh. What if I took the shirt off you right here and now?”

“Your ripped brother and my terrifying cousin are in the next room.”

The possibility of either of them walking in was like a sudden splash of cold water. “Why’d you bring me in here then?”

That head tilt again. “I wanted to show you something.”

“This isn’t something that’s going to make your cousin want to claw my balls off, is it?”

Lance blinked and shook his head. “Thanks for a mental image that will star in my nightmares. No, this is something you’ve wanted to see.”

“Um…”

“C’mon!”

Lance guided Keith over to the closet and opened the door wider, revealing a jam-packed closet organizer. The most organized Keith ever got with his own closet was when he remembered to use the laundry sort baskets on his hamper. Lance pulled open a canvas drawer and withdrew a scrap of black fabric, which he shook out in his free hand.

“Check it.”

“Whoa,” Keith said reverently.

They looked like tiny little bootie shorts, if bootie shorts were made with stretch lace.

“When I said I wanted you to show me your panties, it never occurred to me that you would take it so literally.”

Lance smacked Keith’s arm with the hand holding the panties. “I’ll wear them for you sometime, but only if you’re sweet to me.”

“I’m sweet.” Keith drew Lance in closer by the hips. “Now is a good time.”

“You’d better be decent in there because I’m opening this door in five seconds!”

At the sound of his cousin’s shout from just outside the bedroom door, Lance flung the crumpled black panties into the closet and swung the door shut with his foot.

Allura charged into the room like an angry leopard, lithe on her feet with ferocious eyes.

“That wasn’t five seconds,” Lance said.

Keith thought that Lance ought to have his privates cast in bronze to make a trophy for an outstanding courage award. It was looking like that might be the only way Keith would ever get to see them.

Allura pointed at Lance. “Don’t test me. You are so lucky you’re still fully clothed right now.”

Shiro appeared over her shoulder with his Onii-sama face on. “Say your goodnights Keith. It’s time to go home.”

                                                                                                  

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Silence reigned in the truck for several blocks. Shiro didn’t even queue up the Smashing Pumpkins CD that made its near-permanent home in the aftermarket stereo in the dash. Finally, Keith couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Aren’t you going to lecture me?”

Shiro cut his eyes to the passenger’s seat. “Do you want me to lecture you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Don’t you want to?”

Shiro hummed and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I feel like I need to do some research first.”

“Research on whether or not you should lecture me?”

“Research on sex.”

Keith’s bowels clenched with the cold fear of unholy embarrassment. “Shiro we already had the sex talk. We don’t need to have another one.” Ever, ever, ever. He still had vivid recall of the last one, lo these many years later. There had been diagrams made out of construction paper and illustrations from a book written in the 70s. Shiro had made corny jokes. Including the one which had rendered Keith unable to pick up a Rubik’s Cube without experiencing a Pavlovian urge to jack off.

“That was mostly a birds and the bees talk.” Shiro shook his head. “We didn’t really cover gay sex. That was an oversight on my part.”

Keith clutched the vinyl seat as if it could save him from the inevitable. “No no, Shiro, you did great, great talk, really I got this whole gay thing down.”

“Keith.” Shiro looked deadly serious. “We’re having the talk. Just as soon as I get my presentation materials together.”

And to think he’d started this evening appreciating the thought of sex.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nante kotta - Literally a contraction of 'what a terrible surprise,' is used in Japanese for the same situations where English speakers would use 'OMG.'
> 
> hokkigai - surf clams
> 
> tamago - Japanese omelet
> 
> el querido - Literally 'the dear one,' in this context Allura means 'the guy you like.'
> 
> los plátanos maduros - Literally 'the mature plantains,' and also refers to a popular Caribbean preparation of same by slicing and frying them. Plantains can be sweet or savory depending on how ripe they are. The ripest ones are sweet enough to eat as a dessert.
> 
> puedes entrevistarlo - 'You can interview him.'
> 
> claro - Literally 'clear' and is sometimes used where an English speaker would use 'okay.'
> 
> no te rajes - Literally 'don't you crack,' in Cuban slang it is similar to 'don't flake out.'
> 
> buen provecho - Literally 'good benefits,' used in the same spirit as 'bon appetit' to invite a guest to enjoy their meal.
> 
> Onii-sama - A respectful title for an older brother.


	10. Your mission, should you choose to accept it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lotor springs his plan and makes his demands. Keith and company come up with a plan of their own, but they forgot something very important. Allura is not a woman to be trifled with. Shiro cooks edible food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have my eternal thanks for all the kudos, and a shout out to LemonIceTeaAndCo for the comment, thank you so much!
> 
> None of the scenes referenced in the tags are physically graphic, but some of them could possibly be considered emotionally triggering, and there is one coming up in this chapter. If you want to skip it, stop reading after the third series of tildes and stars, and pick up again after the fourth series of tildes and stars.
> 
> "Take me out tonight. Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. Driving in your car I never never want to go home because I haven't got one. Oh, I haven't got one." - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, performed by The Smiths

 

Sunset turned the sky purple and red as Keith walked out of the market with his backpack cooler hiked up on his shoulder. It would be nice to have a few necessities around the house again. Like bread rolls, and shrimp chips. Note to self: hide shrimp chips from Shiro lest they never be seen or heard from again.

Or – perish the thought – used in a homemade visual aid. Shiro had been mysterious about how his dreaded presentation was coming along. “You will not know the hour or the day” was all he would say on the matter. On the other hand, he seemed to be talking (and smiling!) on the phone to Allura more and more often over the last couple of days, so at least something good came of getting busted in flagrante delicto.

Approaching his bike, Keith reflected that maybe he ought to invest in a sissy bar and bag, now that he had Lance to think about. He smiled at the thought of how Lance would react to hearing what that gear was called. It would make grocery runs easier, too, though. He strapped the backpack cooler to the pillion seat with a bungee net like he usually did and resigned himself to obeying the speed limit as he rolled out of the parking lot.

It was probably going the speed limit that saved him. If he’d flown out into the road like he would’ve done without a bag of groceries riding precariously behind him, he’d have been toast. As it was, he heard the flat-six engine rumble build to a roar in time to bring the bike to a complete stop, his rear wheel lifting slightly off the pavement.

“Are you crazy?” Keith was ready to give the careless driver a piece of his mind. He wanted to give him a piece of his tires across the hood of his fancy car, but he was trying to stay out of trouble for a change.

Then he realized who he was looking at.

“Gosh, I sure hope you’re not hurt.” Lotor Drule smirked from the driver’s seat of his penile enhancer. He had the top up, which seemed out of character for him. Warning bells were starting to ring in Keith’s mind.

“I’m fine.” Keith double checked that the groceries were still secure behind him. The temperature was starting to drop with the retreat of the sun and he was past ready to go.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should exchange insurance cards.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Or maybe I could just catch up with your boyfriend later if it turns out I have whiplash. Since I know how to find him and all.”

Warning bells turned into clanging alarm. “What do you want?”

Drule laughed. “Straight to the point, I actually like that. Since you’re being so straight with me, I’ll be straight with you. Drop out of the contest.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Drule’s grin turned nasty. “And I’m sure the police would be very interested in hearing more about the property damage you inflicted on my father’s club recently.”

Stonewall, stonewall, poker face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. And maybe you wouldn’t even care about going to juvie. But your boyfriend won’t go to juvie if he gets arrested.” Drule tsked. “He’d get deported. I wonder what would happen to him then?”

Keith was rendered speechless. He felt cold. It smelled like it might rain soon.

“Anyway I’m glad we had this little chat. Have a nice life.” The Porsche roared off into the purpling gloom, cutting off a little old lady in a station wagon and causing a bottleneck at the next traffic signal.

Keith sat on his bike at the parking lot exit and tried to catch his breath.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“He’s got nothing but hearsay.”

Pidge clacked away on their laptop at the desk under their bunk bed as Keith watched. He and Pidge had known each other most of their lives, and to this day he didn’t understand how they were able to sleep right above plugged in computer equipment. They maintained they needed the extra floor space for more desks, servers and A/V equipment, because the house was old and their room was not all that big. He’d tried to convince them once that the EMF exposure was bad for them, and they’d scoffed that they converted EMF to body fuel. Knowing their energy levels so well, he’d had to concede that if anybody could do that, it was Pidge.

At the moment, Keith only had enough energy to straighten up a little in the green beanbag chair next to the dresser and shelving system that Mr. Holt had turned into a wall-filling media center (that still functioned as a dresser).

“He knew, Pidge. I don’t know how he figured it out, but he knew.”

“Knew, shmew. If he can’t prove it, doesn’t matter what he knew.” Pidge rolled their ergonomic swivel chair back out of the way so that Keith could see their laptop screen. “Check this out.”

On the screen was low resolution security footage showing Keith, Pidge and Matt crowded around the computer terminal in the mall. The vantage point was too high to make out facial features or reveal what Pidge was doing on the computer. Matt had put on a windbreaker over his uniform shirt, hiding the logo that would have given him away as a mall employee. Of course, anyone who knew him would still recognize Matt just by the hair.

“How is this proving that he couldn’t have known?”

Pidge flicked their glasses in irritation. “Because Matt and I snuck back later to take out the footage of us and replace it with footage from another day. That’s why I have this, and it’s the only copy. Did you really think I wouldn’t close that hole before we risked our asses at the dance party from hell?”

“Okay, but what if someone remembered seeing Matt hanging out in there that day?”

“Eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable.”

“And yet, still admissible in a jury trial.”

“But also easily challenged.” The overhead light glinted off of Pidge’s glasses. “You and I are both expert bluffers, so why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you about this whole thing?”

Keith stared into his clasped hands. He still felt cold. “I think I put Lance in danger.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious Pidge, he could get deported!”

Pidge folded their arms and tilted the chair back on its base. “Have you ever thought of what might have happened to him if we hadn’t staged that prank?”

Keith scowled. “Yeah, he wouldn’t be in danger of being deported.”

Pidge leaned forward and smacked Keith hard upside the head.

“Ow!”

“Here’s what would have happened genius: his cousin would have still made him go to that party and the best possible outcome would have him sneaking out a side door to avoid octopus hands. That’s the best case scenario. It could have been a lot worse.”

Keith thought of purple bruises on brown skin. “You don’t think that oaf at the party was just a crazy opportunist.”

“Think about what you know of the Drules. If Lotor had bad intentions and a plan to carry them out, and had lined up some accomplices to help him, would you be surprised?”

Keith’s cold chill was swept aside by burning rage. “That son of a bitch!”

“That’s the spirit!” Pidge smiled savagely. “But hold that thought. We still need a plan.”

“I think I can help with that.” Matt opened the cracked bedroom door wider, leaning on the doorknob. Gunther the Holt family dog wriggled into the opening and made a beeline for Keith. “By the way, I found out who ratted us out. That little shit Reggie Karp. Old Man Graham just fired him for trying to extort extra money out of people renting the lockers.”

“Yeah he sounds like star witness material to me,” Pidge snerked. “What else you got?”

“I’ve got an idea,” Matt said. “But I’m going to need your expertise to carry it out. I’m thinking we should try for doing this tomorrow. The sooner the better. We might need Hunk too.” He looked over at Keith, who was scratching Gunther between the ears. “And I might need some of your clothes.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“How do I look?”

“Very convincing. Doesn’t he look convincing?”

“I think so.”

Pidge, Keith and Hunk stood in a semi-circle around Matt, admiring their handiwork. Between Pidge’s makeover job, Keith’s old catering uniform, and a large box of fresh-baked peanut butter cookies provided by Hunk, Matt had been transformed into a dark brunet delivery boy ready to drop off bakery goods at the Drules’ club downtown. It had been extremely fortuitous that they caught Hunk in Home Ec when they reached out to him for assistance.

The plan, which they’d cooked up in less than twenty-four hours, was for Matt to gain entry and then let Pidge in, while Keith climbed a tree to act as the lookout and Hunk stood by as the getaway driver. Matt’s uniform included serving gloves, and Pidge had swiped dishwashing gloves from the kitchen and stashed them in their pocket. The other two didn’t need to worry as much about leaving trace evidence behind because they were not going inside the building. The Holts were primary agents on this mission, but they all had a role to play. All of their phones were temporarily programmed to filter only calls from the squad for the duration of the op.

“I feel like humming the Mission Impossible theme music right now,” Hunk confessed.

“Go for it, dude,” Keith said. They were all a little wired.

“Doo doo dooo, doo doo dooo, doo doo dooo, doodit!”

“No way, man,” Pidge objected. “It’s wee-a-woo, wee-a-woo, wee-a-woo, woppit!”

“I can’t believe you guys are arguing about the proper way to sing an instrumental,” Keith called over his shoulder, leading the way out of the Holts’ two storey Queen Anne.

Matt responded by beatboxing the next bar. By the time they climbed into Hunk’s car, all four of them were harmonizing together.

Operation: Save Lance, Stop Lotor was a go.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance checked his phone again from his position on the floor with his feet propped up on the mirror. Still no reply to any of his texts. His calls to Keith and Hunk were going straight to voice mail. Where the hell could they be?

He’d gotten himself to the studio on the L, barely a half an hour late. Could Keith have gotten fed up waiting and left? He’d thought they were getting closer, pretty sure they were ready for the ‘I want to be exclusive with you’ talk, but Keith did have a temper. Or could something else have happened? Keith rode that motorcycle without a helmet most of the time. The thought of him being in an accident chilled Lance right to the bone.

But then, where was Hunk? They usually met up in the courtyard since they didn’t have last period together, but Lance waited next to the statue of St. Mark with the lion for fifteen minutes and Hunk didn’t show. Next he’d gone to the Home Ec room thinking he stayed late working on a project, only to be told by Father Bakur that Hunk had run out at the bell in a big hurry, and taken his day’s project with him. Sure enough, his car was gone from the parking lot. It seemed like more than a coincidence for both Keith and Hunk to suddenly go incognito on the same afternoon. What was going on?

And why was Lance being left out of it?

He rolled onto his tummy and idly kicked his dance-sneakered feet in the air behind him, trying to ignore the familiar feeling that important decisions were being made without his input. He’d felt this years before, a hollow sensation in the gut when loved ones stopped talking whenever he came into a room. Because they had plans for him, and no time to entertain objections.

No, he had to be imagining it.

“Well hello there, sweet thing.” Lotor suddenly let himself into the room, and Lance wished he was imagining that. “All alone?”

Instinct made Lance surge to his feet. “My partner should be here any minute.”

“Oh.” Lotor made an exaggerated face of dismay. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?”

Lance’s stomach churned. “What are you talking about?”

“Well this is just terrible.” Lotor moved farther into the room and Lance snatched up his messenger bag and angled himself so the wall catty-corner to the door was at his back. “He didn’t tell you he was dropping out of the contest? For shame.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Lotor’s eyes raked Lance’s body and he was very aware that he was dressed in just a wrap cardigan over a unitard. He was also aware that Lotor had a good twenty pounds of muscle and bone over him.

“Is it? If it’s so ridiculous, where is he?”

“He’s probably just stuck in traffic.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Lotor gestured to the phone still in Lance’s hand, and he sounded so confident, like he knew something. Lance stood there frozen.

Lotor laughed. “Is he not answering his calls? Oh that’s rich. Alright tell you what, let me take you home.”

Shudder. “That’s not necessary.”

“Are you seriously considering an Uber this close to nightfall?” Lotor’s eyes lit up with devilish glee. “Does anyone even know you’re here?”

Lance’s whole body broke out in gooseflesh. He still had his contacts list open on his phone. Without looking (can’t take eyes off Lotor, too risky) he punched a contact with his thumb.

The call went through and was immediately answered by a very familiar voice. “Lance?”

Lance could have wept with relief. “Allura please come pick me up. Please. Por favor.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

_“Virus away.”_ Pidge’s voice came softly over the conference call.

Keith looked down from his perch in a crabapple tree. It was still early enough in the evening that nobody was loitering close enough to take notice of two kids coming out of the service door. “You’re all clear.”

So far the plan had gone off without a hitch. Matt had gotten in via the service entrance with nobody questioning his presence, signing in as Chip Stoker before being waved on back to the kitchen. There was new security in place, but it was all concentrated around the main entrance.

Matt left the cookies with the harried Kitchen Manager, who didn’t spare him so much as a glance as he left by a different door than the one he came in. He let Pidge in through a side door and they stealthily made their way into the security room, which was locked but unmanned. Which was just preposterous, did they really think the upper floors couldn’t be breached or that a knob lock couldn’t be picked? Apparently somebody did.

Pidge made short work of copying all security footage for the date and time frame they wanted. Then they uploaded their nonpropagating virus to the LAN. It was a modification of a simple file deletion virus with a backup payload to encrypt any files it couldn’t delete. They weren’t happy about having to turn a perfectly nice computer system into bric-a-brac, but deemed it necessary to cover their tracks and take any possible leverage away from Lotor Drule, who had already proven unwilling to adhere to any rules of engagement.

Hunk was waiting two blocks away with the engine running. They all piled into the car and joined the rush hour traffic. Nobody spoke for another few blocks.

“Holy shit guys, that was intense, and I was just sitting in the car.” Hunk’s knuckles were tight on the steering wheel. “Did you get what you needed?”

“I’ll know for sure when I go through the footage.” Pidge cracked their knuckles and flopped back in the front passenger’s seat. “If I don’t find a Bond villain speech in there somewhere, then Lotor has more humility than I’m giving him credit for.”

“He’s a cunning bastard, and he can’t seem to help bragging about that,” Matt agreed from the backseat.

“Here’s hoping that’s his weakness.” Hunk rolled to a stop at a four way intersection. “Hey, let’s call Lance and tell him the good news.”

Keith sat up straight in the backseat as panic seized him by the spine. He wrestled his phone out of his jacket’s inside pocket and turned notifications back on.

“Hey man, where’s the fire?” Matt grinned at Keith.

“It’s in Keith’s pants,” Pidge quipped back, and the siblings high-fived each other over the back rest.

“Wow, Lance left five messages for me just in the last hour.” Hunk glanced down at his phone before taking his turn past the stop sign. “He must be really worried about us.”

“You told him you’d call him after we were done, right Keith?” Pidge said distractedly as they withdrew a pilfered peanut butter cookie from their shirt pocket.

Keith did not reply. The notification of eight new messages burned into his retinas.

“Dude.” Matt had the best view of Keith’s face and he was starting to look concerned. “Are you alright?”

The first message played on Keith’s phone, unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet in the car. _“Hey I’m going to be a little late getting to the studio, taking the Blue Line, you know how it is, right? Try not to miss me too much!”_

Hunk launched into a barrage of angry-sounding Spanish.

Keith hit send to dial back Lance before his second message was even done playing.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Allura was blasting Morrissey’s _Live at Earls Court_ on the Subaru’s sound system. Lance stared out the window as droplets of rain spattered it in fitful bursts.

Lotor had loomed next to him outside the studio, sulking like a child being denied the last piece of cake. Then Allura had skidded up to the curb, shoving the vehicle in park and getting out, staring down Lotor with a glare that could freeze lava until Lance was safely in the passenger’s seat.

The sight of that marine blue Forester had released Lance from his escalating feeling that he was in a horror movie where he wasn’t caught up on the plot. The crossover SUV had been Allura’s graduation gift to herself and she’d owned it as long as Lance had lived with her. He would joke she should leave it to him in her will, and she would joke back that she intended to be buried in it.

Nobody was joking now, though. Naturally Allura had wanted to know what the hell Lance was doing there dressed in dance togs, and he was too tired and upset to make excuses anymore. Did it even matter now? Maybe Lotor was full of shit, but something had happened, Lance could feel it in his marrow. Something had happened and nobody had seen fit to tell him about it.

_“Bigmouth strikes again, and I’ve got no right to take my place in the human race,”_ rang out, and at first Lance thought it was the CD player switching to random playback. But “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out” was still playing out of the Forester’s speakers.

The overlap was coming from Lance’s phone. Keith was calling him. Lance fumbled his phone out of his messenger bag, only to have it snatched out of his hand before he could answer. Allura cut a sharp glance his way as she dropped the phone in her lap.

“Do I even have to tell you that you’re grounded?!”

The rest of the ride consisted of clashing music from the stereo system and Lance’s phone as both Keith and Hunk repeatedly tried to call him. The crossover’s living occupants sat rigidly silent.

They swerved into Allura’s assigned spot in front of the greystone. She pulled the parking brake with more force than was necessary, then powered down Lance’s phone. For a moment the only sound was the ticking of the cooling engine.

“Why, Lance?!” Allura pounded her open hands on the steering wheel. It didn’t even matter which why she meant. All of them were applicable.

“Why wouldn’t you at least let me try?” Lance’s tear ducts felt hot and sticky. “Why couldn’t I just try?” His nervous system still jittered with warring sensations of relief and dismay.

“Oh, Lance.” Allura crossed her arms over the steering wheel and laid her head on them. “Go up to your room and stay there until I call you for dinner.”

“Allura, I’m sorry.”

“Now.” Her tone was muffled but brooked no argument.

“Going.”

Lance trudged up the stairs instead of taking the elevator and still managed to get into the flat before Allura. She was righteously pissed off at him and probably running around the block to let off steam. He hated when Allura was disappointed with him, but he honestly didn’t know if he would have done anything differently. If he hadn’t disobeyed Allura, who knows if he would have ever met Keith? He could never regret that.

He closed himself in his room and wanted nothing more in that moment than to curl up in bed and throw the bedspread completely over his head like he used to as a child. But he had to get something done first, before Allura came back into the flat and cut off that vector of communication as part of his grounding.

He went to his desk and brought the laptop out of sleep mode and pulled up his email.

 

> To: keef@****.com
> 
> Cc: incrediblehunk@*****.com
> 
> Subject: I’m grounded
> 
> I’m so sorry you guys. I went to the studio and nobody was there but then Lotor was there acting skeevy so I had to call Allura and she’s muy furioso at me. I know you’re trying to call me but I’m grounded until infinity and she has my phone. Not sure how much longer I’ll be able to use email. I hope everyone is okay.
> 
>  

Lance heard the front door slam and hit send.

There. Now he could go crawl under the covers and try to forget this day had ever happened.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith prodded his gyudon around in his bowl. If this had been any other day, he’d have snarfed it all down and gone for seconds already. The sweet and salty beef and rice dish was about as gourmet as Shiro ever got unless the grill was involved. Their mother had learned to make it to comfort Shiro when they’d moved back to the States after Shiro’s father had died, and then Shiro had learned it from her, and now he made it for Keith. It had a strong nostalgia factor for both of them, but Keith’s stomach was cramped up with worry and it was hard to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“You want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Shiro made a show of sipping his beer, but he’d had solemn grey eyes on Keith ever since he came in the door.

Keith opened his mouth but he couldn’t force the words out. He put his head in his hands. He still couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to tell Lance about the plan. The plan that involved him. And then he’d wound up alone in a room with Lotor Drule anyway! That was the part that bothered him the most.

“I got a call today,” Shiro continued. “Little bit before you got home.” He took a bite of his own food, chewed thoughtfully. “Am I to understand that you guys were going to enter this dance contest after Allura expressly told Lance he didn’t have permission?”

Keith raised his head, stared at Shiro slack-jawed.

“Well now he’s grounded.” Shiro took a glug of beer. “And Allura is upset. I’m sorry that you won’t get to participate in the contest, but you really shouldn’t have tried to do this behind her back.”

“That’s what you think is bothering me?” Keith found his voice, and it was shrill. “The contest?” Not that it wasn’t bothering him, but he had a list now, and it wasn’t in first place.

“Well if it isn’t the contest then what…” Shiro took a deep breath. “Listen, I know what it’s like when you’re young and you can’t wait to see the person you’re dating, but you guys are just going to have to be patient for a while.”

“Oh my fucking god, Shiro.” Keith threw his hands in his hair with enough force to tilt his chair back.

“Language Keith!”

“Lotor Drule threatened to get Lance deported!”

If somebody threw a lit firecracker into Shiro’s forelock he couldn’t have looked more surprised than he did right at that moment. “What?!”

Shiro then demanded to know everything, and Keith told him everything. It was like a geas had been lifted and he couldn’t stop talking. He even told him barely relevant things that made Shiro’s face look like a Red Delicious apple, but it was so cathartic to get everything out in the open that Keith barreled on past the twinge of mortification until he got Shiro well and truly caught up.

“Even saying Pidge finds proof of what Lotor was planning,” Shiro grimaced, “How were you going to reveal it without also revealing that you got it illegally?”

“Pidge knows ways of getting things out on the web.”

“I don’t doubt that. But they’ve already done something like this once and somehow Lotor was able to trace it back to you. If they do it again, suspicion will fall immediately on you. I’m not willing to risk you, kid.”

“I’m not willing to risk Lance.” Keith glowered.

Shiro pinched his brows. “We need to get all the parents in on this.” He put a hand up at Keith’s moue of apprehension. “I know you don’t want your friends to get in trouble, but you guys need help from people with more experience at negotiating serious consequences.”

“Can I talk to them about it first?” Keith knew he couldn’t stop Shiro if he had his mind made up, but he owed his friends the fair warning.

Shiro chuckled. “Like I could stop you. You’ve grown up so fast. Just one thing, though Keith, if you’ll humor your older brother.”

“Sure?”

“If you value my sanity, please keep all descriptions of Lance’s underwear on a need to know basis. And I don’t need to know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> por favor - Literally 'for favor,' it is used in the exact same way that 'please' is used in English.
> 
> muy furioso - very furious


	11. Here it is another weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is grounded. Keith is sneaky. Allura is uncertain. Hunk and his family are determined to bridge the gap. An important meeting takes place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continuing kudos, you guys are the best!
> 
> "You go where you have to go and you never back down, and you never back out, fighting even when you're filled with doubt. That's what you do for a friend." - That's What You Do For a Friend from the soundtrack of "The Swan Princess: Escape From Castle Mountain"

 

“Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody…” Lance had been singing old pop standards to himself for the past hour. Not much else to do since Allura took his phone and computer and wouldn’t let him leave the flat. “…how I wish I had someone to talk to, I’m in an awful way…” And anyway, it really was Saturday and he had no idea where Keith could be. Not that he’d be allowed to see him even if he did know.

Allura had escorted him to and from choir that morning, and Lance had been forced to witness other boys embarrassing themselves in her presence. Even Rax couldn’t work up a good glare because his eyes kept wandering over to the corner where Allura sat reading some tome on experimental aeronautics. Monday was going to be insufferable from boys coming up to him and saying things like ‘Dude, your cousin’s hot,’ and trying to get her phone number. As if they stood a snowman’s chance in Cuba.

Speaking of hot, the weather had abruptly changed from cool with scattered showers to daytime temperatures in the 80’s. The radio weather guy called it “the last gasp of summer.” Lance called it too hot for fall. After nearly four years with Allura and the majority of that in states with a wind chill factor of brrrr, Lance was well acclimated to cooler climes. So, following an awkward lunch of cold cut sandwiches and only the most perfunctory of conversation with his still-miffed guardian, Lance had retreated to his room and immediately skinned out of his uniform.

Now he lay on his bed wearing an ensemble of Keith’s t-shirt with the blue satin cheeky briefs, tossing a stress ball back and forth in his hands while trying to muster up the ability to care about his weekend homework. “…here it is another weekend and I ain’t got nobody…”

 

_Tap tap tap_

“…it’s hard on a fella when he don’t know his way around…”

 

_Tap tap tap_

Okay that wasn’t a bird at his window. Visions of Lotor Drule danced obscenely in Lance’s head as he rose with a clatter to retrieve the baseball bat he kept under the bed.

Only to find a mullet and a pair of violet eyes peeking in the window. Keith was crouched on his fire escape. Lance rushed forward to let him in.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith had promised Shiro he wouldn’t go bother Allura into letting him see Lance. He had never promised he wouldn’t climb Lance’s fire escape. His bike even fit in the alley easily. It was a plan that was meant to happen.

It was a plan that meant he had to climb past two neighbor flats and hope their occupants weren’t home in bed on a Saturday afternoon. He realized this might be a slight problem as he was climbing past the second storey flat and heard a woman with a German accent scolding a child for getting up from her nap. He ducked under the second storey window and tried to keep his body tight to the rungs as he climbed the last set up to Lance’s bedroom.

A sweet and mellow baritone floated out of the cracked open window.

“I got in town a couple months ago, I met a hot boy since then…”

It had been a while since Keith had heard that tune, but he was reasonably sure that wasn’t how the line went.  

“…but la jefa won’t let me see him, that’s why I’m in the shape I’m in…”

Keith peeked in the window, and then clutched the sill to keep from falling off the landing. Lance was in bed wearing his shirt and a tiny pair of blue panties, his mile long legs and tan lower abdomen bared to Keith’s saucer-wide eyes. It was hard to tell from this distance if he shaved or just naturally didn’t have a lot of body hair.

_Must look closer, got to get him over here now_.

Keith tapped on the window.

Lance took a breath and then kept singing.

Keith tapped again, and this time got a reaction. Lance dove under the bed and sprang to his feet with a baseball bat in his hands. Keith cringed. But then Lance caught sight of him and hurried over to open the window.

“What are you doing out there?” Lance whispered.

“What are you wearing,” Keith whispered back, while staring down at what Lance was wearing. He took in the fine, sparse hair on Lance’s legs and the scrap of shiny blue material highlighting his assets. Keith’s curiosity spiked through his blood like hot sake.

“Psst, Keith. My eyes are up here.”

Keith let Lance help him in through the window, and then he tugged Lance in close and kissed him soundly, glorying in the smidgen of height his street bike shoes gave him over Lance in his bare feet.

“Are you okay?” he asked when they broke for air, trying to keep his voice pitched low.

“What the hell happened Keith?”

Keith wanted to erase that hurt look from Lance’s face, so he told him everything.

“You should’ve told me right away,” Lance said crossly, but he did not retreat from the circle of Keith’s arms.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I got so caught up in trying to save you, I forgot… you.”

Lance chuckled softly.

“What?”

Lance plucked at Keith’s mesh jacket and licked his lips. “It’s just; this is kind of what Coran told us wouldn’t happen.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Keith breathed. “I’m sorry Lance.”

“Just don’t forget me again, m’kay?”

Keith framed Lance’s serious face with his hands, stared into those deep blue eyes. “I’ll never forget you again. I promise.”

Lance offered a watery smile. “That’s all I ask.”

Keith pulled him close and pressed his face to Lance’s neck, breathing in the fresh, warm scent of his skin from the heat of the day and the remnants of his cologne. He smoothed his t-shirt down Lance’s back and slid his palms over the smooth satin covering only half of his rump.

“I have to say, these panties are worth the wait.” Keith slipped his fingertips under the waistband and felt two shallow indentations just above the swell of Lance’s gluteus medius. Lance had dimples of Venus!

“You wanna rummage in my drawers?”

Keith could not see the eyebrow waggle that accompanied that statement, but he could sense it.

“Lance, I think you need a pun intervention.”

“Babe you know you love my puns.”

“I love you. I tolerate the puns.”

Lance gasped and pulled back slightly as the magnitude of Keith’s words hit both of them.

“I’m not taking it back,” Keith said stubbornly.

“Good,” said Lance, “because I’m going to get ‘Lance loves Keith’ airbrushed onto a t-shirt and make you wear it.”

He really did love Lance, but where did he come up with this shit?

Wait.

“You love me?” Keith could feel the goofy smile threatening to take over his face in spite of his best efforts to remain cool.

“Course I love you, idiota,” Lance smiled back.

“Don’t call me names just because I said it first.”

“Aw, look at you learning Spanish.”

“The root word is Latin, it’s not that hard to figure out.”

“Shut up and kiss me Keith.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“It’s like we’re spies in a spy novel!” Sam Holt said, revealing exactly from whom his children had inherited their propensity for getting up to mischief. He was a rangy older man with a full head of hair of an opalescent shade that only natural redheads acquired with age. With square frame glasses perched upon his nose and dressed in an olive green polo shirt and khakis, he looked more like the college professor he was than a Tom Clancy protagonist.

“Before we debrief,” Colleen Holt said with a fond smile for her husband, “Shiro, do you want this on or off the record?”

If the Holt kids got their shaggy dog style of troublemaking from Sam, they got their single-minded tenacity from Colleen, who was the real reason Shiro had decided to come clean to the other parental units, propriety aside. In a square-necked blouse and a prairie skirt, her anchorwoman haircut carelessly tousled for the weekend, she appeared a lot more relaxed in her home than she did on TV. But her hazel eyes were all business.

“Off the record,” Shiro said. “For now.”

“If I may,” Lisa Martinez, Hunk’s mother, waved from the wingback chair across from the sofa. She was still dressed in light blue scrubs, having come over straight from a shift at the hospital. “How come Lance’s guardian is not here too?”

“She told me she planned to be all over Lance like angry on a wet cat this weekend,” Shiro said. “It’s probably just as well. He does need an eye kept on him, even if she doesn’t know the full extent of it yet.”

Shiro had refrained from grounding Keith, knowing if he did then it would have a cascade effect that would inevitably result in his little brother’s friends making it their mission to find a way to eavesdrop on this meeting. If anyone could invent real extendable ears, it would be Pidge and Matt Holt. As they all still had their freedom, Pidge, Matt and Hunk were safely ensconced at the library working on a science project, and Keith had better not be at Lance’s place.

“Why don’t you lay it out for us, and explain how our children are involved.” Colleen sat back against the tufted sofa cushion, blowing on her coffee. It was a familiar pose, as she employed it often to disarm city bigwigs during interviews. Shiro found it a bit disconcerting when it was deployed at him, though.

He took a bracing gulp of his own coffee, and began. They had to stop once when Lisa choked on her coffee and Colleen rose to get her a glass of ice water. By the time Shiro was through, Lisa was quietly swearing in Spanish, Sam was hiding his unhinged jaw behind one hand, and Colleen was thoughtfully sipping a second cup of coffee.

“I should’ve known better than to think they were going to a costume party this many weeks before Halloween,” Colleen said.

Sam lowered his hand to reveal an open-mouthed grin. “The sheer ingenuity they displayed, I can’t help but admire it.”

“We need to sit them down for an in-depth discussion about the finer points of the law.” Colleen eyed Sam with a raised brow.

“I’ve had many a discussion with them both about honoring the spirit of the law,” Sam insisted.

“Not really the same thing, dear.” Colleen tried to hide her smile behind her coffee cup, and then sighed. “We have to find out if the kids discovered anything incriminating on the security footage before working out how much of this to put out there.”

“So you do think we should leak something,” Shiro said.

“Zarkon is not indulgent with Lotor by the standards of his social set,” Colleen seemed to be considering her words, “but he won’t tolerate any threat to his company’s reputation, even if it’s only by proxy. Yes, we need to surprise him. If we give him time to set the tone of public discourse, he’ll be merciless in the name of damage control.”

“Yeah he would be,” Shiro agreed. “I’m just worried about Allura and Lance. Neither of them deserves to be the center of a PR shitstorm. Pardon my French.”

“That’s actually Old English,” Sam said, sounding like Keith. Could this be where Keith got the habit of correcting people’s grammar? How much time was he spending over here? Shiro realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven Keith to or from school.

“What about you, Shiro?” Colleen asked. “You work for Zarkon Drule. It goes without saying that I’ll protect you as a source, but the man has ways of digging out information when he really wants to know.”

“I’ve been thinking about leaving GALRA for a while now, honestly,” Shiro admitted. If he’d been spending as much time with Keith as he should’ve been, the boy might never have gotten in over his head in the first place. “How about you, Lisa? If we go forward with this, I don’t know how effectively we can keep your boy’s name out of it.”

Lisa laughed wryly. “You don’t know Hector if you think you can keep him out of this. He stands by his friends, thick or thin.” Her smile wavered. “He’s a good boy, so loyal. He won’t let us keep him out of it, but I can’t help wanting to keep him out of the crosshairs of such a dangerous man, ay Dios mio.”

“I’d like to keep all of them out of it as much as possible.” Colleen leaned forward, cradling her coffee cup in one hand. “A lot depends on what Pidge found. But I’ll be damned before I let anyone get away with threatening our children.”

The four adults toasted on it and a pact was born.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Frankincense, sweet and resinous, wafted down the aisle from the thurible on the altar. The fragrant smoke and the call and response of familiar rites were soothing to Lance’s senses. Allura always chose Spanish language Mass whenever possible, and Lance was grateful for this touch that felt at least a little like home.  

“Que la paz esté con vosotros,” the priest intoned.

“Gracias a Dios,” the congregation responded en masse.

The church organist played them a processional as they rose from the wooden pews and shuffled out of the rows in somnolent order. Then Lance felt a pleasant jolt because there was a very familiar face smiling at him from the vestibule.

“Hunk!” Lance grinned. “I thought your family went to St. Michael’s?”

“We thought we’d mix it up a little today.” Hunk grinned back, then his eyes got real big and he straightened like a cadet in JROTC. “Allura, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Hunk.” Allura stepped up beside Lance and nodded coolly at Hunk.

Hunk’s mother appeared at his side, wearing a blue and black sheath dress partially obscured by an occupied baby carrier. “Hola, I’m Lisa, Hector’s mother.” She stretched out a hand, which Allura accepted. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Allura, Lance’s cousin. It’s lovely to meet you as well,” Allura replied. Lance could read in the tense lines of her body that she wanted to hustle him on out of there and back to his comfortable cell, but Hunk’s little sisters crowded around their legs and demanded to be introduced too: Acacia, Esma, Zita and Natalia.

“The two of you must come over for Sunday roast,” Lisa said. “We’re having pernil and arroz con gandules.”

Allura looked uncertain. “Oh, I…”

Lance hit her with the best limpid eyes he could muster. He was channeling Puss in Boots from Shrek _and he was killing it_. Then the little sisters horned in on his action and out-begged him. How was he supposed to compete with four little girls in polka dot dresses?

“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Allura was trying very hard not to smile. “Thank you very much for inviting us, yes we would love to.”

YES! Lance tried to contain his excitement at the promise of a Sunday enjoying Hunk’s company and cooking, and not being cooped up in the flat. Keith’s clandestine visit the day before had left him paradoxically lonelier afterward.

Maybe an afternoon with Hunk and his family could convince Allura to loosen up a little. Lance felt brighter in spirit as they followed Lisa’s gold Kia Sorrento south towards Paseo Boricua.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Allura leaned on the counter as she watched Lisa prepare Malta con Leche Condensada, a drink she hadn’t enjoyed since childhood. Lisa had started making it with the explanation that it helped her produce milk for Tamara, and then offered to make it a double. Allura couldn’t pass that up. Sure she wasn’t breastfeeding anyone, but she’d been under stress, damn it. The longer she spent in Lisa’s company, the more at home she felt, which made her stomach pang with an emptiness that was not just physical hunger, but she was reluctant to put the proper name to it.

Lisa Martinez Joa-Saéz y Colón was one of those tiny boned women, who, if you saw her in your daily travels, you would never expect to discover was a mother of six, much less to a strapping teenaged boy like Hunk. With shining black hair and the expressive cocoa eyes she had passed on to her children, she probably got mistaken for Hunk’s sister more often than being recognized as his mother.

Allura had asked for her secret to looking like she’d gotten a full night’s sleep and Lisa laughed and admitted that she got a lot of help from Hunk. Allura could well believe it after seeing how skillfully he rounded up all of his little sisters, including the baby (and also Lance who did not make herding him easy as a general rule) and rustled them all into the living room to find a movie to watch.

Hunk had also helped prepare the pernil that had gone in the oven as soon as the family returned from Mass, but Lisa was insistent on making the arroz con gandules herself. _“Go,”_ she’d said, _“Enjoy the movie with your friend,”_ and then she’d invited Allura into the kitchen for the sweet beverage and what Allura had little doubt was going to be a talk about Lance’s recent shenanigans and Hunk’s involvement in same.

Allura was ready.

“Salud!” Lisa passed over a stoneware mug brimming with sweet malty goodness that would go straight to her hips, and clinked her own mug against it. They both drank deep.

“Takashi Shirogane, el es un gato, de acuerdo?”

Allura was not ready for that. She might have gotten some of the drink in the wrong pipe.

“¡Perdona sae!” Lisa leaned forward and patted Allura’s back. She was smiling kindly, gently, impishly. “Are you alright? I probably shouldn’t have said that, it just seemed like he was really into you and I thought you already knew.”

“He’s into me?” A point of reference that might be just a teeny weensy bit more important forced its way past Allura’s insta-glow. “Wait, when did you meet Shiro and why was he talking about me?”

Lisa went and peered through the archway into the living room a moment before going over to the stove and setting a caldero on a burner grate. She turned to Allura and beckoned her over. “Bring me the olive oil, would you? It’s just there.”

Lisa had actually passed the cruet on her trip across the kitchen and back, but Allura humored her and brought it over.

“Gracias.” Lisa lit the burner and poured a generous slug of oil into the caldero. “All I ask is that you hear me out completely before rushing in there to confront them,” she said sotto voce.

A cold stone settled in the pit of Allura’s stomach, chasing away the heat that had been generated by news of Shiro. “I can do that.”

“Está bien.” Lisa had all the rest of her mise en place set out already, except for Hunk’s homemade sofrito which she retrieved from the fridge. “So, this Lotor Drule, he has shown an unhealthy interest in your Lance. Shiro’s brother and his two friends decided to prank this guillao hoping to distract him, but it got out of hand.”

Lance’s uncharacteristic reticence about an event he’d normally have gotten a funny story out of made more sense now. “The party crashers?”

“Si. My son was a bystander at first, but when the afrentao went so far as to threaten Lance, he got involved too.” She fixed Allura with a serious look as she gave the sofrito in the caldero one last stir and then ripped open a packet of Sazón. “You understand this cannot leave this room. What they did could land them in a lot of hot water.”

“¡Coño!” Allura counted to ten. She had promised not to run into the next room and drag Lance out by his ear until she’d heard the rest. “You have my word I will keep this secret. Continue por favor.”

And so Allura watched Lisa complete the preparations for the dish as she completed her tale of how their boys tried to extricate themselves from Lotor Drule’s web and instead became more ensnared. By the time Lisa put the lid on the caldero to let the rice absorb the remaining water, Allura had come to a conclusion.

“This is all my fault.”

Lisa turned to her in concern. “¿Qué fue?”

“I made him go to that party.”

Lisa looked unconvinced. “Did you twist his arm?”

Allura shook her head. “He understood that he was meant to go.”

She had been relating to him very much in the same way as Tio Alfor had related to her – that the veto option was reserved for the benefactor in most things, for the benefit of a legatee who presumably didn’t know any better. But how had this party benefited Lance in any way? How could the fallout from this possibly enhance the legacy?

How much had any of the parties Allura had quietly endured really helped her when it came right down to it? Aside from teaching her how to sneak out of rooms quietly and find the Solar in a manor house, the benefits of which were debatable. Allura vowed to return to Lance the power of the word no and respect it from here on out.

Lisa’s palm was warm through the cool linen of Allura’s sleeve. “Even so, it should have just been a party. He should never have had to deal with the unwanted attentions of a boy with too much power and not enough scruples. And that is not your fault at all.”

Allura took a deep breath, let it out. Lisa was right. It should have just been a party. Maybe not all that enjoyable of a party, but at the end of the day that’s still all it should have been.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I’m glad you could come over bro.” Hunk pulled Lance into a nice warm hug. “We should do this more often.”

The afternoon had been the most relaxed one that Lance had enjoyed since… well, since the last time he’d been over to Hunk’s house, honestly. They watched _The Swan Princess: Escape from Castle Mountain_ with Hunk’s little sisters, with a running commentary from the girls on the various merits and demerits of Prince Derek’s princely mettle. (“He’s real good at climbing.” “Yeah he is.” “But he’s real bad at paying attention.” “It’s terrible,” the littlest one had agreed, looking very serious.) Lance was never watching a princess movie without them ever again. Their input was essential to the princess movie watching experience.

Allura had joined them on the couch about two-thirds of the way through the movie, looking a bit shaken about something, but she recovered enough to jump in on the round table the little sisters had started. (“If Bridget can transform the princess into a swan, why doesn’t she just use magic to fix Puffin’s tail?” “Because she gots turned into a swan before so it was easier to do it now.” “Uh huh, it happened in the last movie.” Sage nods all around. “Oh. Very well then, carry on.”)

Then they had all feasted on roast pork and rice with pigeon peas, and washed it down with cold ginger tea. Hunk’s mother had somehow steered the dinner table conversation around to the science fair project. Allura was fascinated by Hunk’s explanation of how they were modifying a food cart’s design to increase its capabilities without expanding its overall size. Hunk had prodded Lance into giving an outline of the research paper he and Keith had started working on before everything went sideways. Allura looked thoughtful and said she might be willing to consider allowing Lance to participate in supervised study sessions.

All in all, things were looking much better than they had two days before.

And now Hunk was hugging him with one arm and the other arm was still in between them, because Hunk was sliding something into the left pocket of Lance’s guayabera shirt. The weight and shape felt like a candybar phone. Lance hooked his chin over Hunk’s shoulder and darted a hand into the pocket, closing his fingers around the purloined object. It was a candybar phone. He quickly transferred it to his pants pocket because the material of his shirt would not have hidden it very well, then he leaned back in Hunk’s embrace.

“Thanks man.”

“Any time. You know you can call on me whenever, right?” Hunk’s gaze was a bit more intent than the statement warranted.

Lance smiled. “I appreciate you Hunk. So much.”

Hunk smiled back. “It’s just being a good friend. No wait, don’t sing the song.”

Too late. “That’s what you do for a friend my friend, that’s what you do for a friend!”

“I regret everything!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Much later, in the privacy of his room, Lance drew the burner phone out of his pocket as he was getting ready for bed and turned it on. Someone had prepaid two months and five hundred minutes and there were three texts waiting for him.

 

We got u this phone for emergencies and so u can stay in touch with us.  :)  Hunk

 

We R workin on ur problem don’t give up – Pidge n Matt

 

Here is a reminder that I love you ♥ KK

 

Lance snuggled under the bedspread and texted back Hunk, Pidge and Matt.

 

Thanks guys  :)

 

Then he texted back Keith.

 

I love you too TQM

 

He fell asleep with the phone still clutched in his hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> la jefa - Feminine noun translation of 'the boss.' The masculine form, 'el jefe,' has particularly loaded connotations in Cuban Spanish due to it being associated with Fidel Castro.
> 
> ay Dios mio - Literally 'Oh my God,' it is an oath that can be used to create emphasis at the beginning or end of a statement.
> 
> Que la paz esté con vosotros - May peace be with you.
> 
> Gracias a Dios - Thanks be to God
> 
> pernil - It is a pork leg or shoulder marinated with sofrito and slow roasted to be very tender and deliciousssssss. Woop, sorry got drool in the keyboard.
> 
> arroz con gandules - Literally 'rice with pigeon peas.' It is a Puerto Rican variation on a beans and rice dish, and it is very good. It is traditionally served alongside pernil for special occasions, so you know Lisa and Hunk are making a concerted effort to win over Allura.
> 
> Malta con Leche Condensada - It is a drink made with Malta soft drink and condensed milk. The Malta is a bit of an acquired taste, it's kind of like nonalcoholic beer, only sweeter. Mixing it with condensed milk is a very popular way to drink it in both Cuba and Puerto Rico. 
> 
> Salud - To your health
> 
> 'el es un gato, de acuerdo?' - 'he is a cat, you agree?' In Spanish, cat is the slang term to indicate a person with high sex appeal where English speakers usually use fox. 
> 
> perdona sae - This is a very informal way to say 'pardon me,' so informal that it is used as a meme with similar connotations to 'sorry not sorry.'
> 
> está bien - Literally 'it is fine,' frequently used in conversation the same way as 'okay' depending on context.
> 
> guillao - Puerto Rican slang for an arrogant jerk. 
> 
> afrentao - Puerto Rican slang for a very self-centered person.
> 
> qué fue - Literally 'what was,' is used in Caribbean Spanish to request someone to clarify what they just said.
> 
> guayabera - Lightweight pleated garment with patch pockets, usually in the form of a shirt though dresses are also made in this design. It is popular all over Latin America, but especially in Cuba and the Cuban diaspora, where it is considered de riguer formalwear.
> 
> TQM - This is an abbreviation of 'te queiro mucho,' which means 'I love you so much.' XOXO for kisses and hugs is not as commonly used outside of English speaking countries, TQM is a more common sign off in Spanish speaking countries and expresses the same sentiment.


	12. Reverberation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More meetings happen, more plans are made. Allura engages in some self-examination and gets some help. Shallura pretty much took over this chapter, but Keith and Lance are still there in spirit (and then literally at the end).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and the bookmarks, and a special thanks to emmab1008 for your comment, you guys are the best!
> 
> "Pretty blue lights along the way help you right on by, and the blue lights shining with a heavenly grace help you right on by" - Lake Shore Drive, performed by Aliotta Haynes Jeremiah

 

Callum Maahox was the senior research scientist attached to the university who was supposedly directing Allura’s project. Supposedly, because even the GALRA senior executive Sendak was more hands-on than Dr. Maahox. The only reason Allura was aware he was keeping tabs on her at all was the occasional email he sent to remind her.

So imagine her surprise on Monday morning after dropping Lance off at school, when she checked in to the cramped campus office she shared with four PhD candidates and found the crusty old bastard kicked back in her designated chair.

“Debbie have you returned with my coffee?”

Allura cleared her throat to alert him to the fact that she was not Debbie. He levered himself up to look at her without removing his chukkas from her section of the cluster workstation.

“Oh Miss O’Farrill, it’s you.”

Allura schooled her expression to prevent the eyebrow twitch she felt coming on. It was not often that she felt compelled to point out to anyone that, technically, she was entitled to be called Doctor, but something about this man made her itch to correct him.

“Tell me, did you happen to pass Debbie in the hall on the way over? She was supposed to bring me a Wing Nut Frappuccino.”

Perhaps it was because he so often treated her like a first year grad student instead of a damn professional who had earned the same degree he had.

“I’m afraid I haven’t seen Debbie this morning.” Allura clasped her hands in front of her, so that she could not use them to wring Maahox’s skinny neck. “Have you come for the meeting with Mr. Drule and his associates?”

That got his feet off the desk. “Mr. Drule? You’re not meeting with that Sendak fellow?”

“I expect he will be there as well, but Mr. Drule was present at the last meeting and is the one who set up this meeting, so I can’t think of any reason why he wouldn’t also be there.”

“You’ve already met with Zarkon Drule?” Maahox whipped his Oxford spectacles off his nose and shined them on his leather-patched sport coat. “I see. He’s pushed you to begin the manned trials, I take it?”

“Commencing that stage is what I expect today’s meeting will be about.”

“Interesting.” Maahox’s face contorted into a rictus grin. “You’ve got some backbone if you’ve met with him personally and managed to put off scheduling manned trials by a whole week. He’s probably got his legal team ready to secure the patent after the first successful trial that doesn’t kill anyone.”

Allura raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that why he financed the project?” She had known going in that she wouldn’t retain legal rights to the end product with a man like Zarkon Drule paying her fellowship. She had been excited by the hypothesis and wanted her name associated with the research for leverage in future studies.

That is, until she found out she might be lending her name as an accessory to involuntary manslaughter. She and Shiro had put in many hours of unpaid overtime to minimize the chances of that happening. She was still fully prepared to call it off if her safety protocols were not realized. Needlessly putting people into harm’s way was not worth any amount of prestige.

“Yes, yes.” Maahox perched the spectacles back onto his nose. “You’re quite right. This accelerates matters more than I expected. Well I suppose it can’t be helped.” He grinned again and sprang from the chair with a spryness that belied his weathered appearance. “I’ve got to go see a man about a thing. Catch you at the meeting!”

He leapt for the door and almost ran over Debbie. “Good timing sweet girl!” He snatched the frap from her hands and he was off.

Debbie groaned in frustration, pulling at her auburn hair. “He just cost me a whole hour I could have spent in the lab and he didn’t even stay to give me feedback on my outline.”

Allura winced in sympathy. She wasn’t going to get that hour back. “Why don’t you just ask Dr. Page to be your PI? You know he approves of your dissertation proposal.”

“I wish I’d asked him from the start,” Debbie grumbled, her fading Southern accent resurging in her irritation. She sloped her way to her task chair at the huge desk known to the office’s occupants as ‘the clusterfuck.’

Allura shrugged and slung her purse onto her own corner of the clusterfuck. She was wondering if it was worth the effort to spray her chair down with Lysol when she heard voices approaching from the hallway. One voice was very familiar.

“Honestly Shiro, you act like I don’t know my way around a university I’ve worked at for over fifteen years.”

“You once got lost trying to find the campus bookstore.”

“That was an isolated incident and there were extenuating circumstances.” The man speaking those words was still looking over his shoulder as he shambled into the room. “Oh, hello there.” His long, thin face lit up in a smile that transformed his features from homespun to handsome. “You must be Allura.”

“I must be,” she agreed, and couldn’t help smiling back.

Shiro leaned into the doorway behind the older man, lips lifted in welcome. “Morning, Allura.”

“Good morning Shiro.” Allura twisted a lock of hair in her hands, realized she was doing it, and forced her hands back to her sides. “What brings you here this early?”

“Sam and I want to take you to breakfast.” Shiro gestured towards the now-named Sam, who nodded. “Sam is Pidge and Matt’s father.”

“They’re mine,” Sam confirmed cheerfully.

“How lovely to meet you.” Allura was getting an idea of what the breakfast conversation might be about. They both seemed to be in fairly good spirits, so hopefully they had good news. “Yes I’d love to join you for breakfast.” She hadn’t had time for more than a hunk of bread and butter and a canned espresso while trying to wrangle Lance out of the flat. Grounding him always turned out to be just as demanding on her as it was on him.

Looking over the results of the drone trials one last time was more of a formality than a necessity anyway at this point. She turned back to the desk to retrieve her embroidered bucket bag and spotted Debbie peering over the partition at them. Debbie caught her eye and gave her a thumbs up of approval.

Allura hoped Shiro didn’t catch her blush as she preceded him back into the hall.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Shiro wished he’d taken Sam up on his offer to drive them over in the Volvo. The walk was not taxing; quite the contrary, it was pleasant out and the diner was not that far away.

It was just very difficult to resist the gravitational pull of Allura walking ahead of him in capris and one of those flowy blouses she liked to wear that hinted at the curves beneath with every flutter of fabric. Not even Sam’s shit-eating grin in his peripheral vision could stop him from staring against his better nature.

“Here let me get the door.” Shiro jogged ahead and opened the door to the diner. There. Now Allura’s marvelous gluteal and calf muscles were no longer drawing his eye like lasers to a house cat.

Nope. Now he had an excellent view of the way the scoop neck of the blouse framed a hint of her cleavage and the outer gauzy layer rested against her bosoms like sea foam on a siren’s wings.

“Thank you Shiro.” Allura smiled as she walked inside. Sunbeams danced across her cheekbones as a breeze lifted the wispy hair left loose around her face.

“Thanks champ.” Sam waltzed in and smacked him on the shoulder.

“Yeah you bet.” If Shiro’s eyes had been lasers, Sam would have gotten an instant tonsure right then.

They got settled at a red-checked table and put in their orders before getting down to it.

“So,” Shiro began after they’d all gotten their first divine sips of coffee out of the way. “I did promise you that I would talk to Keith and give you an explanation of his side of the story.”

“You did.” Allura shook some more sugar into her coffee. “But I should let you know that I spoke with Lisa yesterday and she filled me in on a number of things you might have been planning to tell me.”

Shiro blinked. “That does simplify things a bit.”

They had to stop again when the waitress returned with eggs, toast and bacon for Shiro and Allura, and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes piled with whipped cream for Sam.

“You know about the quest for the security footage?” Shiro asked after they had all gotten their first bites of food.

Allura nodded as she dipped a toast point into runny egg yolk. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Shiro stirred some hot sauce into his scrambled eggs. “Before Sam takes over this sitrep, I just want you to know that I think my kid brother is in love with your cousin.”

Allura swallowed her bite of eggy toast. “I suspect his feelings are not in vain,” she said.

Her azurite eyes held Shiro fast as they gazed at one another. He could stare for hours and never discover an end to her many facets.

A harmonic clink interrupted their gaze-athon. Sam had tapped his water glass with his butter knife. He held up a pointer finger in the universal sign of ‘one second’ because he was still dealing with a mouthful of carbohydrate overload. He couldn’t have waited until he was done with that first?

Finally he said, “The kids got their hands on some highly incriminating footage. We found the incident where the one boy tried to drag off young Lance,” Allura dropped her fork at that, “no clear audio on it due to ambient noise, but it’s obvious he resisted going with the boy. We also found the plotting session.” Sam scratched his head. “I can’t pretend to understand all of the slang they were using, but the intent seemed pretty clear. They were just smart enough not to use their given names. Positive ID is circumstantial, but the location is clearly recognizable. There’s enough audio captured on that clip to cause a scandal for sure.”

“Is that the only plan?” Allura practically sparked with outrage. “Cause a scandal? Because let me tell you, I don’t want to cause a scandal. I want to squash them like bugs.”

“How publicly do you want Lance’s name associated with this?” Shiro asked.

“Bloody hell.” Allura dropped her head in her hands. “Not at all. I want him as far removed from this as possible.”

“We’re united on that,” Sam said. “None of us wants our kids involved in this morass. If Lotor Drule doesn’t know that, his father surely would.”

“So then, what?” Shiro asked. “I hate this, but I really don’t think our kids would get equal treatment against Lotor Drule and his cronies in a court of law.”

“We should give them a voice in this decision.” Allura looked tired. “So much of what’s happened is because they didn’t count on us to listen, so they just didn’t count us in at all. We can listen now.”

“I can agree with that,” Sam said.

Shiro ran his hands backwards and forwards over his hair before settling his chin on his clasped knuckles. “Yeah, I’m with you. Let’s set it up.”

“The sooner the better,” Sam added. “We shouldn’t sit on this too long, it’s too volatile.”

After a quick phone conversation with Lisa, they decided to hold the multi-family meeting at the Holts’ house after the kids got out of school. Lisa’s house had more space for entertaining large groups, but the Holts had the A/V equipment necessary to go over the security footage, and some of it was heavy and not easily moved, so they’d just have to cram everybody in.

Five adults, five teens, four little girls, an infant and a dog. They made a tenuous plan to potluck it. Shiro hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be a meal of multiple desserts and pop. Keith would be in hog heaven but Shiro would have to listen to the thumps of his dancing feet all night long. Keith on a sugar rush was a dance machine, doing his thing even when people were trying to sleep. Then he’d finally crash at oh-dark-hundred, and be a grumpy terror when Shiro roused him for school the next morning.

He’d still rather deal with grumpy Keith any day than have to sit through a meeting with Zarkon Drule while trying not to give away his intentions to make the man’s life imminently stressful.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Allura swapped out her Keds for ballet flats and shrugged into the ¾ sleeve blazer that turned her capris from casual wear into a warm weather suit, flipping her hair out of the back collar.

“Going somewhere fancy?” Debbie was still working on whatever she’d been doing over at the clusterfuck, with a pencil behind her ear and both her notebook and a bag of cheese doodles open in front of her.

“Just a meeting with the sponsor and Dr. Maahox.” Allura tried not to roll her eyes at the last part, and was not entirely successful.

“Is Tall, Dark and Sexy going to be there too?”

“Debbie!”

“If you have him to stare at, it can’t be all bad. Just saying.”

“Who’s staring at what?” Speak of Tall, Dark and Sexy, and he appears in the doorway, like a magnificently hot genie.

“Computer eye strain,” Allura said quickly, “Debbie, you need to give it a rest.”

Debbie decided to rest her eyes on Shiro, goggling at him as if she’d never seen a good looking man before. Maybe she really hadn’t seen one that good looking before, there weren’t many on a par with him that one could expect to meet in person. But also, Debbie logged more time in the lab than anyone else in that office. She rarely saw any men who weren’t dressed head to foot in PPE gear most days of the week. Allura was very glad her own degree-seeking days were behind her. The office, uncomfortably close on a good day, suddenly felt unbearably stuffy.

“Ready to go, Allura?”

“Born ready.” She snatched up her bag and the sneakers too, since she intended on heading for St. Mark to pick up Lance directly after the meeting.

“Have fun!” Debbie called out after them, waving a cheese doodle.

“What was that about?” Shiro asked as they walked down the hall towards the exit.

“She needs to get out more,” Allura replied.

Maybe it wasn’t just Debbie who needed to get out more, though. Maybe Allura herself ought to take stock of where she was, and where she wanted to be, in terms of her career, and her family.

Tio Alfor had never married nor had children of his own. He had been away at University of Valencia when the revolution happened, and turning the family legacy from a straightforward university sponsorship into a more nebulous fostering arrangement had been his idea. He had gone on to foster relatives for most of his adult life, seven of them in total.

Allura had been the last, and he had treated her with genuine affection, at the same time never mollycoddling her. She was more closely related to him than the previous fosters, being his youngest sister Ariella’s youngest child. He had taken her in at a younger age than she had for Lance, due to differences in the school system in Great Britain, where he had eventually chosen to settle. She’d have done anything he asked of her, and indeed did when he insisted on sending her to social events that tested her forbearance.

He had always seemed larger than life, generating a personal energy that seemed as if it could power a sun. After watching her mother succumb to a withering illness, Alfor’s indefatigable vigor had inspired awe and hero worship from his niece. To a weary child, he had seemed like he could go on forever. When a school administrator had inevitably mistaken Allura’s matronym for a surname she had allowed it to remain on record, because carrying that name in public life was one small way to honor Alfor, a personal way to pay him back for restoring her hope in the future.

Heaven knows he would never have consciously accepted any more thanks than for her to carry on the legacy. But he had always seemed restless, never entirely content. Was it disloyal to his memory to want to find out if contentment could be an end in itself? If they weren’t doing this to find and share some measure of happiness, then what was the point of doing it to begin with?

“Allura? I said we’re here.”

Allura blinked in the bright sunlight and realized Shiro had been talking to her for who knows how long. He was standing in the open passenger door of a large black truck.

“I can bring you back to your vehicle after the meeting if you want.”

Apparently Allura had just toddled along beside Shiro all the way out to the street during her reverie. “I… that would be appreciated, thank you Shiro.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.” He had a beautiful smile.

He handed her up into the classic truck. The bucket seats were enormous compared to the ones in her Subaru. The interior was in pristine shape, not a speck of dust on any surface, and it smelled wonderful. Leather, pepper, a hint of citrus, and a long deep note of resin and spice. Allura followed the strongest scent trail, inhaling beatifically, until she saw Shiro legging it up into the driver’s seat. That was actually him smelling wonderful. The scent was probably concentrated in the cab of the truck because he spent a lot of time in it. Allura fumbled for the seat belt as heat bloomed in her cheeks.

The rest of the journey, north on Lake Shore Drive staring at the blue-grey vista out the passenger’s window, she felt a curious buzzing behind her ribcage. She was not prone to motion sickness. What was this feeling? Shiro’s presence was the obvious factor, but if this was a crush it was unlike any she had ever experienced before.

They interrupted Haxus hard at work feeling smug about his lot in life so that he could usher them into Zarkon’s ~~lair~~ office, where they endured the same inappropriate greetings as the time before. The only difference this time was the presence of Sendak looming behind Zarkon’s chair, forbiddingly tall and broad in a sharkskin suit. His poorly sized glass eye made it look like he was always squinting suspiciously at whoever was in his sights. Allura tried not to squirm; Sendak wasn’t a mind reader, there was no way he had a single clue of their plans.

She didn’t have time to wonder where Maahox was, or even to sit down before Zarkon’s intercom came to life:

_“Mr. Drule, Maahox is here with a… guest. No, you cannot go in without permission!”_

Zarkon’s office door opened and Maahox came on in without permission, with a squat man in a seersucker suit in tow. Was he wearing shoulder pads under that seersucker suit jacket? Maahox’s guest was also sporting handlebar muttonchops, Brylcreemed hair, and a sneer that seemed terribly out of place on such a tiny little pork chop of a man in the presence of an industry (and literal) giant such as Zarkon.

“Greetings all and sundry,” Maahox said as he pierced the inner sanctum like a hot needle. “Apologies for my tardiness, but I could not attend without my representation present.”

“Your… representation?” Sendak made it sound more like a threat than a question. Which it probably was.

“Morton Vok, Esquire,” the representation elected to introduce himself. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Sendak hissed, showing teeth. “Delightful.”

“Callum,” Zarkon interjected, “explain to me why you felt the need to bring your lawyer along with you to this private business meeting.”

“Why, to protect my interest in the patent for my invention, of course.”

Allura’s head snapped in his direction so fast her hair thwhapped Shiro on the neck. “I beg your pardon?”

“Pardon is granted, young lady.”

“That was a rhetorical question!”

“Why would you address me with a question to which there is no answer? I’m a scientist, not a philosopher!”

“You’re a blooming pseudologist is what you are!”

“SILENCE!” Zarkon stood and slammed his hands down on the desk with a thunderous boom that made the glassware in the curio shelves quiver and tinkle. “Clearly there have been some miscommunications between all of us. Perhaps bringing in a mediator will help to clear things up. Sendak, if you please?”

“On it.” Sendak produced a flip phone from one of his pockets, ridiculously tiny in his enormous hand, and within five minutes a phalanx of GALRA lawyers stormed into the office. It was amazing how they all seemed to be wearing the same suit and went to the same barber.

The entire rest of the meeting could have been conducted to the tune of “Entry of the Gladiators.” Allura did not give a monkey’s toss who wound up with monetary compensation on the patent as long as that skiving mingebag Maahox did not get credit for her contribution to the field of engineering. She may have mentioned this several times. Loudly. With swear words included and a fist shaken in the air.

“Takashi,” Zarkon eventually said, “I believe that Allura needs some air. Would you see to it?”

“I don’t need air, I need to put my foot up that berk’s- let go, I can walk on my own, thank you!”

Allura shook her arm free of a lawyer just as Shiro moved to step between her and another hovering lawyer. It was clear she was going to be escorted out if she did not go under her own power.

Shiro leaned in, his lips tantalizingly close to her ear, and whispered, “Trust me.”

Allura turned her head the scant amount necessary to look into his eyes. Grey, like the smoke of the incense his scent reminded her of (and that scent was all around her right now). “Very well,” she said. Because she did trust him.

He nodded and put his arm around her shoulders and gently guided her out of the office. They walked past Haxus’s station. “We’re just going to get some air,” Shiro told him.

And then they kept walking. Into the elevator. Out of the elevator into the parking garage. Zarkon had not specified which air to inhale, so he could only blame himself if they chose to take air in a whole different zip code. It wasn’t until they were in the truck with the GALRA building receding in the rearview mirror that Allura turned to Shiro and asked, “Where are we going?”

Shiro glanced at her and then back at the road, as utterly confident behind the wheel as she somehow knew he’d have been at the controls of her prototype aircraft. “I think you deserve your own representation. And I think I know just who to ask about that.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Samuel D. Holt PhD had crammed his office full of as many books as he could manage. All three walls around his L-shaped desk were stacked floor to ceiling with shelves bristling with their spines, an eclectic collection of everything from _On the Origin of the Species_ to _Perdido Street Station_. The desktop facing the door held a haphazard arrangement of papers, the type of filing system only its creator could decipher. The desktop leaned up against a bookshelf had a 24 inch monitor set on it like an afterthought, the tower it belonged to hidden somewhere out of sight.  

Sam’s visitor’s chair was far more comfortable and practical than Zarkon’s, in Allura’s estimation: a simple wooden armchair upholstered in Naugahyde, the better to repel the flop sweat of nervous students arguing about their grade. Behind her, Shiro leaned back against the office door, holding it closed in case a student failed to read the ‘do not disturb’ sign posted on the outside of it. Before her, Sam Holt leaned his elbows on the desk with his chin on his hands, waiting for Postdoctoral Affairs to come back on the line. He had them on speaker so that Allura and Shiro could participate in the conversation without passing a handset around.

Finally the P.A. rep took them off hold with a sigh. _“You’re not the first person to complain about him, turns out.”_   The verbal exchange then focused on Allura’s next step towards resolving the conflict with Dr. Maahox. The representative they were speaking to was technically a member of Sam’s department, not Allura’s, but the information she was providing was helpful nonetheless.

And it would still have to wait until morning. Even if Lance wasn’t a flight risk if she left him to his own devices for too long after school, the likelihood of getting a walk-in appointment at the Provost’s office or her ombudsperson this late in the afternoon was low enough that it was not worth taking the chance.

Shiro seemed to read her mind. “Guess we better hit the road before Keith gets it in his head to ride over to Lance’s high school and check up on him.”

“Thank you so much for your intercession,” Allura said to Sam, who nodded back at her kindly.

“It’s no trouble at all. See you both at the house?”

“We’ll be there.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I think you need to compromise on the dip,” Hunk said. “Like, maybe make the lunge shorter.”

“But then it won’t be as dramatic,” Lance whined, throwing his hands around and ignoring Hunk’s eye roll.

“This is gonna be for TV cameras,” Keith backed Lance up. “They’re not gonna push in on us like a movie camera would.” He really seemed to have taken Coran’s advice to heart.

They were hanging out on a patch of green in the shade of a mature oak tree adjacent to the school parking lot. With any luck they’d spot Allura in time for Keith to run out of sight to where he’d parked his bike. Keith’s 13th Floor Elevators t-shirt had attracted some attention from lingering members of the student body, who were giving them a wide berth. Lance was grateful, because this meant that the dorks who had been bugging him all day wouldn’t follow him to the Subaru to try to flirt with his cousin.

“Well,” Hunk said consideringly, rubbing his chin, “if you want a dramatic dip with better leverage maybe you should consider a tango dip.”

“You mean like in _Scent of a Woman_?” Keith asked.

“Why is that the first thing anyone thinks of whenever the tango comes up in conversation?”

Lance wondered how often the tango came up in conversation for Hunk.

“Cause Al Pacino, man.”

But Keith clearly didn’t dwell on it.

“Yeah, okay, you got me there.” Hunk shrugged and crooked a finger. “C’mere Lance.”

“Alrighty.” Lance stepped out of Keith’s loose embrace and let Hunk pull him into promenade position.

“So instead of lunging forward and catching Lance by the scruff of his neck like you’ve been doing, try lunging back.” Hunk slowly moved his inside foot backwards, keeping his weight centered on the outside foot, bending that knee to accommodate. “Keep a tight hold of Lance’s waist and hand so you can bend him back across your knee like so.”

Lance obligingly bent backwards, Hunk’s solid grip on his waist and the knee under his back helping him maintain his own grip on Hunk’s shoulder and outside hand.

“If you want to get fancy with it, Lance can extend his outside leg.”

Lance did, and then turned his head to offer a cheesy grin to Keith, like he had an imaginary rose clenched in his teeth. Hunk and Keith laughed.

“And then you pull him back up when you straighten your standing leg.” Hunk demonstrated, whipping Lance back onto his feet in one snappy move.

“Nice.” Keith had taken out his phone to film what they were doing.

“Thanks Hunk.” Lance beamed at his bestie.

“Por nada.” Hunk smiled back before his face smoothed out in a look of alertness. “Oh boy, there’s Allura.”

“Do you think she saw us?” Lance followed Hunk’s line of sight. Allura was pulling up to the front of the building, afternoon sunlight filtered through the windshield gleaming over her distinctive hair as her head turned toward the front doors.

“Not yet,” said Keith, “but I think I’d better go now. See you at Matt and Pidge’s?”

“See you,” Lance said, getting in one more quick kiss before Keith sprinted off around the side of the building.

“I’ll be along a little later,” Hunk told Lance as he walked him over to where Allura was now squinting at the front doors with a hand over her eyes. “I’ve got a surprise for you guys.”                                      

A Hunk surprise? That was bound to be worth a little suspense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> por nada - Literally 'it's nothing,' this is a very informal way to say 'you're welcome.'


	13. The kindness that lurks in the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fams all get together for a dinner party and merriment is had. Hunk springs his surprise. Then they watch the video footage. The opposite of merriment is had. Lance comes to a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, it is always appreciated!
> 
> There is nothing physically graphic in this chapter, but it could have emotional triggers, and there is vomiting. If you want to skip that section, stop reading when Colleen says “Language, Pidge” and pick up again when she says “We’ll give you some time to process this.”
> 
> "Take good care now, I'm warning you, there'll be nothing left when you're through, so don't be too cruel" - Too Cruel, performed by Amy Hart

 

The first thing Shiro noticed when he came through the Holts’ front door was the noise level. Four little girls chased Gunther the dog all over the front room, screeching and laughing (and barking) and tumbling all around Pidge and Matt Holt, who were obstreperously engaged in a pitched battle on the PS4. The children’s cacophony was interspersed with women’s laughter coming from somewhere just out of sight.

“Welcome to the chaos,” Sam said as he led Shiro and Keith inside. Keith immediately hopped onto the couch between Pidge and Matt, ready to join their game at the first opportunity.

“Don’t get too cozy there, I’m sure we’re going to eat before long.”

Keith waved at Shiro, probably not registering a single word that he just said, eyes glued to what looked like cars playing soccer on the screen.

Sam chuckled. “Come on, they’re going to set up a buffet in the kitchen.” Shiro followed Sam, carrying the family size takeout order of budae jjigae he had picked up specifically to appease Keith’s begging. Keith, who had ditched him for video games as soon as they walked in the door.

Lisa Martinez and Colleen Holt were the source of the laughter in the kitchen, sipping white wine and keeping an eye on their respective casserole dishes in the oven. They seemed to be doing more of the former than the latter, cheeks glowing as rosily as the oven ready light.

“Oh, Shiro!” Colleen took the takeout bag out of his hands. “This smells wonderful! Would you like some wine? We have beer and pop too.”

“I’ll take a beer if it’s no trouble.”

“I’ll have one too, my turtle dove,” Sam said.

Moments later the two men were cracking open cans of Cross of Gold as they escaped through the laundry room into Sam’s man cave near the back porch. The room – which had been some sort of ladies’ parlor in a previous incarnation – was resplendent with an odd assortment of recliners, teetering shelves crammed full of garage sale paperbacks, end tables low enough to the ground to rest your feet on (which Sam had made himself), and no TV because this was Sam’s paradise, and Sam was a nerd. Also, no need to bother with coasters because Sam’s nerdy paradise don’t need no stinking coasters. Sam and Shiro kicked back and set their beers, damp with condensation, right on the scarred tabletops.

“So that Allura O’Farrill, she’s a firecracker isn’t she?”

“If you’re gonna give me crap I’m gonna spray this can of beer on you and then you’ll have to explain it to Colleen.”

Sam chortled and slapped his knee. “Don’t waste a perfectly good beer son. And don’t waste a chance for something great to happen.”

“I don’t want to turn down a good thing,” Shiro said. He thought of a pretty girl from the Near West Side who was going to be his everything, until she couldn’t deal with everything he was about.

“So don’t.” Sam sipped his beer. “If you worry too much about what could go wrong, you’ll never find out what could have gone right.”

“I just – I feel like maybe she’s out of my league. You know? Like we’ll have a lot of fun and then one day she’ll wake up and realize she could have another overachiever instead of – well, me.”

“I know.” Sam nodded, the picture of wise experience. “I felt that way about Colleen. What’s this beautiful young thing fresh out of Northwestern with big plans for herself doing with an adjunct professor working at no fewer than three institutions of higher learning and renting an illegal basement apartment? Twenty years later we have two kids, two careers and a house.”

Shiro quirked a smile. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy.” Sam shook his head. “They’re worth it though.” He looked over at Shiro, more seriously than he usually did. “The ones you love are worth everything and more.”

The doorbell bing bonged a familiar five note melody.

Shiro chuffed out the breath he was holding. “Still using _Close Encounters of the 3 rd Kind_  for your door chime?”

“Why don’t you go and see if it’s an alien?” Sam popped the foot rest out on his recliner. “And leave me to my dotage. Young whippersnapper.”

“All right old man.” Shiro reached over and gave him a friendly smack on the leg before picking up his beer and heading for the front door.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I just want to smell it.”

“No, Lance, you’ll release all the heat from the box.”

He had been asking incessantly ever since they’d picked up the extra large pizza from the Cuban café on the way over. There were plenty of places in town offering Cuban food, but this was the only one that Allura knew of that claimed to make pizza Varadero style. If she had allowed Lance to open that box, he’d have been ‘taste-testing it for authenticity’ long before they arrived on the Holts’ wrap-around porch. As it was, she was doubtful of how long the pizza would survive past the front door.

What aroma escaped the cardboard smelled genuine to Allura, though her memory was admittedly not as recent as Lance’s. Her nose detected the bready char of the crust, the tangy sweetness of the sauce, the smokiness of the chorizo and of course, the cheese. The fat molecules of creamy mozzarella and fruity Gouda sent fragrant steam off the pie that beckoned sultrily. She’d fight every teenager in that house to secure a slice for herself.

The front door swung open and Shiro leaned into it looking as delicious as the pizza smelled, casual and relaxed in black cargo pants and a color block Henley. His slow smile as his eyes lingered all over Allura lit a fire in her belly.

“Come on in, I’ll show you where you can drop it.” He blinked. “The pizza. Drop the pizza. That is a pizza, isn’t it?” He had the most interesting blush Allura had ever seen on a man, a high flush of red right on the tops of his cheekbones.

“Yes.” Allura felt her own face warming sympathetically as Lance practically went cross-eyed trying not to laugh. “Yes it is. Lead on, handsome caballero.” Did she really just call him handsome to his face? With her own words? Using her own mouth?

“Right this way beautiful lady.” He sketched a bow of invitation for her to come inside. She noticed there was a beer in his hand. There was alcohol in this house, hallelujah.

“I can carry it for you Allura.” Lance crowded in beside her.

“Oh, now that’s a laugh.” He’d just carry it right over to the couch where Keith and two other teens had paused their video game, scenting pizza on the wind. Lisa’s four girls and a dog peeked from behind the furniture in a similar state of readiness.

Lance pouted. “I wouldn’t eat the whole thing.”

She patted him on his shiny brunet head. “I’m sure you believe that.” She’d seen his metabolism at work before. It was a force of nature that could raze a bake sale down to the Tupperware in a matter of minutes.

A tall, lean woman with short, caramel colored hair entered the living room from the opposite hall. There was something familiar about her, but Allura wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“I’m Colleen Holt,” she said, with a hand out to shake “and you must be Allura, Shiro has told me so much about you.”

As soon as she heard the name in that rich contralto speaking voice, Allura realized who she was meeting. The reporter looked different dressed in jeans and a mint green top instead of one of the polished ensembles she usually wore on the air, but she carried herself with the same confident grace.

But one thing she said stood out more than anything else.

“Shiro has been talking about me?” She took the offered hand and shook it, and was vaguely aware that Lance was taking the pizza box out of her other hand. That sneaky little devil.

“All good things, I swear,” Shiro said, aiming the puppy dog eyes of bewildered betrayal at Colleen.

Colleen dimpled at the both of them. “We’re going to eat as soon as Lisa’s son gets here, can I interest you in a glass of wine?”

“Oh yes, please.” But first. “Lance you had best be sharing that pizza with everyone.”

“Ulm shrring.” Lance was having trouble with his consonants on account of the slice hanging out of his mouth. The other kids had surrounded him and the pizza box like a pride of hungry lions.

“I believe you’ve already met Lisa’s children, and Keith. The other two are my children Pidge and Matt.”

Two chestnut haired kids saluted her with slices of pizza. Allura reached into the box to get a slice of her own, and if she had to slap some fingers out of the way to get it she refused to be ashamed.

“Dude, your cousin’s savage,” the shorter Holt child stage-whispered as Allura followed Shiro and Colleen into the hall with her prize in hand. “That’s kind of hot.”

“Omlah glahd, stlahp.”

Allura was going to need to have another discussion with Lance about the etiquette of talking with food in his mouth.

“Must be good pizza,” Shiro said from much closer than she was expecting.

“Mmm hmm.” Allura offered a close-mouthed smile around a tasty nosh. See? Classy.

“Could I have a bite?” He was staring at her closed mouth. “I think we can safely say the rest of the pie is a lost cause, so. This might be my only chance to taste y- it. The pizza.”

Allura wordlessly offered up the folded slice. What remained of it. Delicately, as if he were bending to kiss her hand, Shiro leaned into her space and took a bite. He closed his eyes and hummed as he chewed. It was the most erotic thing Allura had ever seen anyone do with pizza. She couldn’t take her eyes off him even if she’d been so inclined. She swallowed forcefully.

“That’s good,” he said as he licked the corner of his mouth.

“Glad you liked it.” If she had to sit through a whole dinner of him enjoying food that thoroughly she was going to need fortifications.

Colleen stepped out of the kitchen and pressed a long stemmed glass into Allura’s free hand. “Sláinte.”

“Cheers.” Allura gratefully tapped glasses with Colleen and took a sip of chilled wine. It tasted of honey and pears, more sweet than dry: a very nice Riesling that would take the edge off but wouldn’t get her hammered. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Colleen smiled, and oh no. She might not know this woman but from TV, but Allura spent her early years under the watchful eyes of no fewer than nine aunts, so she knew a matchmaking smile when she was looking at one. “Say, could the two of you go roust my husband out of his den? Lisa said Hunk just called and told her he’s on the way, so we’re going to set everything out on the sideboard now.”

“You bet.” Shiro placed a warm hand on Allura’s lower back to guide her, and she could half believe she felt her right ovary release an egg in response. She imagined it hurtling down the Fallopian tube with a tiny little voice singing a bolero, and tried to fan herself with the remains of her pizza slice. _Get a grip it’s just his ruddy hand_.

Shiro led her to a room that looked like a yard sale exploded in it. In the center, resplendent like a king on a dais, sat Dr. Holt, reclined in a patched old La-Z Boy with a beer can resting upright on his chest like a scepter. He raised his head to smile indulgently at the younger pair.  “Whatsit?” he said sleepily. He jerked upright at the sight of the pizza. Amazingly, the beer can was not upended. “Food?”

“Good luck rescuing what’s left of that from the hungry horde,” Shiro said, glancing at the crust that Allura had resumed nibbling on. “The rest of dinner is about to be served, though.”

“Well at least there will be some casserole left for us, if the kids have already eaten pizza,” Sam reasoned, smacking his lips.

“Only if we’re quick about it.”

“True, true. I don’t know where they put it. I think Matt has a hollow leg.”

“He comes by it honestly.”

“Wise guy!”

The two men continued to bicker good-naturedly as they cleared out of the room, with Allura tucked between them still masticating a mouthful of pizza crust. It was the most heartwarmingly awkward feeling she’d experienced since the day she’d first met a gangling and wide-eyed younger Lance under palm fronds at a tourist trap in the Bahamas.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I’m here!” Hunk cheerfully declared as Matt let him into the house. “The party may now commence!” He had Tamara in a baby sling across his chest, leaving his hands free to tote what looked like a cupcake carrier.

“What’s in the box?” Lance had been on high alert for Hunk’s arrival, eager to find out the surprise. The cupcake carrier was one of those plastic jobs with the handle that reminded Lance of the Caboodle Allura used for storing her makeup. The plastic, alas, was opaque, only hinting at the shapes of the goodies within.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” was all Hunk said as he breezed past them towards the kitchen.

“Phooey.”

“It’ll be worth it!” Hunk called over his shoulder.

Well that part was never in any doubt. It was Lance’s ability to contain himself that presented the challenge.

He didn’t have to wait long for a distraction though, as Hunk had barely disappeared into the kitchen before Pidge and Matt’s mom called them all in after him. A motley assortment of trivet warmers had been assembled on top of a buffet table to hold a heavenly scented pastelón, a creamy chicken casserole, and the most elaborate looking ramen dish that Lance had ever seen (was that Spam?) which was accompanied by several smaller bowls of rice and pickled vegetables, arrayed like petals around a stamen.

The pastry caboodle was nowhere in sight.

“You remembered the peas!” Pidge called out joyously, squeezing in front of Lance in the line.

“Of course I remembered the peas.” Their mom sounded amused.

Forsooth, the chicken casserole was studded with green peas, and Pidge was a total line breaker. Then someone was pressing Fiestaware into Lance’s hands and Keith was pressing up to his back, softly giving him instructions on how to serve himself a bowl of what Lance had mistaken for ramen, which was actually a stew, and that was indeed Spam adding an appealing meaty aroma to it. Keith insisted that he add some rice to tone down the flaming hot kimchi that was also in the stew.

“Are those bananas?” Pidge poked at the pastelón with a serving spatula.

“No those are plantains,” Hunk replied.

They subsequently had to stop Keith from sticking his fork directly into the serving dish, which was all the convincing Pidge needed to serve themselves a huge portion.

“Don’t take all of it!” Matt called out mournfully from the back of the line.

The Holts pulled out the leaves on their dining room table and brought out folding chairs to crowd everybody around it. Dinner was a noisy, messy, joyful affair, with much passing around of the soft drinks, the salt and little Tamara. Eventually there was nothing left but the lingering scents of cooking sherry, pickle brine and garlic.

“I can’t believe it’s all gone,” Matt sighed, kicking back in his chair and rubbing his belly. Down the table, his father had taken up a similar posture.

“Not quite all gone,” Hunk interjected. “Permission to be excused Mamá?”

“Granted,” Lisa said with a smile.

Hunk went back into the kitchen in an ill-concealed state of glee.

“What’s going on?” Keith asked.

“It’s the pastry caboodle,” Lance said. “Gotta be.”

“Pastry… caboodle?”

Hunk returned with a tea towel draped over the pastry caboodle. He was milking the drama until the last possible second.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I want to thank Lance and Keith, but especially Keith, for the treats we are about to enjoy today. Without Keith I might have never even known this treat existed, and that would have been a crime against my recipe file.”

Lance bounced in his chair. “Pastelitos!”

“Lance, do the words ‘dramatic reveal’ mean anything to you?” Hunk’s tone was scolding even as he whipped the tea towel aside like a magician’s cape.

He popped open the compartments of the pastry caboodle. In the bottom compartment were the pastelitos: bronze-glazed squares of puff pastry, some of them oozing pink guava filling out of the sides. In the top compartment sat golden flower-shaped cookies, glistening under the light from the dining room chandelier and carrying the aroma of cinnamon and ginger across the table.

“Yakgwa,” Keith breathed. “You made it?”

“I hope you like them.” Hunk nervously fiddled with the tea towel. “The only flower-shaped cookie cutter I had was hibiscus, so they might not look quite accurate.”

“They look perfect to me.” Keith drew a cookie out of the top compartment, closed his eyes and took a bite. The corners of his mouth curled up as he chewed. When he opened his eyes, they were shining. “Shiro you have to try one!”

Everybody tried one, along with the guava and coconut pastelitos. Hunk had thoughtfully made enough for everybody with teeth to have at least one of each, and even allowed Tamara to gum the corners of his own treats.

Trust it to Hunk to get the pastelitos de guayaba just right, the tart-sweet and gooey guava filling releasing that piquant scent that hit Lance’s sinuses in a way that was hard to describe but enhanced the overall sensation of eating it. The pastelitos de coco tasted of cream and the tropics, creating a milder contrast with the buttery-flaky pastry than the guava. The yakgwa burst with sweet honey and a savory counterpoint of sesame oil, bearing an even, starchy texture that reminded Lance of a cruller despite the size and density being more like a cookie.

Lance turned his head to look at Keith, who smiled at him with a glossy smear of coconut filling clinging to the center of his lower lip. Lance wanted to take care of that for him. He reached out and swiped the coconut off Keith’s mouth with his thumb and then stuck the tip of that thumb into his own mouth. Keith laughed, scrunching up his nose in a mannerism Lance found especially adorable because he knew that boy could look downright forbidding when he felt like it.

“Ahem!”

Nestled amid the adults bunched at the other end of the long table, Shiro and Allura sat with matching expressions of awkwardness aimed in Lance’s direction. Who did Allura think she was, playing footsy with Shiro through the entire dinner and now twitching her eyebrow at Lance just because he wanted to lick the food from Keith’s lower lip?

“I vote we get the video set up before Keith and Lance start making out right in front of us.”

_Had it not been for the laws of this land, Pidge._

“Seconded!”

_Et tu, Hunkaroo?_

Keith patted him on the hand in wordless understanding. If only they could extend this sweet moment indefinitely. Lance was being asked to revisit an unpleasant memory in front of everyone, and he knew this hallowed spell of time would be over as soon as that started.

Hunk’s little sisters were set up in the master bedroom to watch _Howl’s Moving Castle_ and the rest of the party repaired back to the living room to watch something considerably more disturbing.

Lance found himself sandwiched securely between Keith and Hunk on the sofa, much to Allura’s visible consternation. Shiro drew her down beside him on the loveseat before she could raise an argument as to why Lance should be sitting next to her (and it was kind of reassuring to Lance that he wasn’t the only one feeling nervy about this). Everyone else pulled up wingback chairs, an honest to God fainting couch, and in Pidge’s case pilfered throw pillows tossed to the floor.

Pidge crab walked over to the walnut entertainment system, sat cross-legged in front of it and started fiddling with stuff.

“Let’s watch the party footage first sweetie,” their mom said, completely unperturbed by the sight of her child introducing ‘dry clean only’ fabrics to the high traffic area of the carpet.

“Okay Mom.”

Somebody dimmed the living room lights, and then the television brightened with a grainy black and white image of people milling around in a ballroom. The audio was muzzy, the melody of the band distorted by the many voices talking over it.

“There wasn’t much we could do to isolate individual sounds on this part of the footage,” Pidge said. “The club’s recording equipment in the ballroom was kind of crap.”

“I’m not surprised by that, honestly,” Mrs. Holt said. “In a place like this, the patrons wouldn’t see the value of investing in surveillance equipment of a quality that could pose a serious threat to their privacy.”

“We cleaned up the video some, though.” Pidge pointed to a spot on the screen. “Look, there’s Lance and that’s Hunk.”

Sure enough, there stood a pair of handsome devils next to a table laden with serving dishes, the cameras and lights just scintillating enough to pick up the luster on the fancy food.

“And here comes an asshat.”

“Language, Pidge.”

A sandy-haired giant and a vamp in sequined silk approached the Lance on the screen. The audio was too flummoxed to have a hope in hell of understanding what they were saying, but the Lance on the couch didn’t need it because he remembered.

The lights dimmed on the video. A spotlight illuminated a head of shiny blond hair and followed the gilt figure down the last flight of an imperial staircase. Then the pandemonium began.

The low lighting created some problems separating silhouettes out of the crowd. Lotor and his pack of fans careered out of the spotlight, which amazingly tried to follow them for about three seconds before whoever was operating it must have realized that keeping Lotor framed in the light wasn’t the most pressing concern.

Lance couldn’t peel his eyes away from the action taking place at the buffet table. Even in the reduced lighting conditions he was able to locate his own double, rearing back in surprise when a meaty hand locked around his upper arm, and he massaged that arm in the present, remembering how it had tingled as the blood circulation was restored when he had gotten loose.

“Watch, here comes Keith.”

Pidge helpfully pointed out the fauxhawked figure running full tilt boogie into frame. Lance appreciated this new vantage point of Keith’s athleticism as he whipped past a stunned chaperone to heave the table out of his way and vault onto the back of Lance’s assailant. Screen Lance’s knee came up and then he was sprinting off towards screen Hunk, while screen Keith stayed clamped onto Wade’s torso like a confused xenomorph.

The rest of the scene played out as Lance remembered, only this time he was an observer. Real Keith pulled Lance closer on the couch; on his other side, real Hunk rubbed his back. After screen Matt’s gravity-defying ‘do escaped out of frame, real Matt slothed an arm over from the fainting couch to the end table and switched on a Tiffany lamp.

“So that’s why you were so tight-lipped about the punk rock party crashers.” Allura regarded Lance thoughtfully as Shiro ran his fingertips soothingly along the curve of her shoulder. She had her hands tucked into her armpits as if she were cold, though the Holts did not have the air conditioner running, just an oscillating wall-mounted fan to stir the balmy air.

“I don’t think any viewer will believe that Lance was a willing participant in that scene,” Dr. Holt said, leaning sideways in his chair so he could make eye contact with Allura.

“Not after watching Lance destroy that guy’s 'nads,” Pidge agreed. “Nice self defense moves, dude.”

“Thanks,” Lance tried to smile, but he kept thinking of how it was Keith’s intervention that bought him the distraction to aim that kick. What if Keith hadn’t been there? Would he have gotten that shot in, or would Wade have blocked it and kept dragging him towards the door? He shivered.

Keith wrapped his arms tighter around Lance’s waist and tucked his warm face into Lance’s neck, warding off the chill.

“Are you ready for the next clip, sweetie?” Mrs. Holt had turned from the TV screen to watch Lance in concern. “There’s nothing in it you’ll personally remember, but you’ll want to prepare yourself for what these boys were saying.”

Lance’s imagination could conjure up an approximation of what to expect. He’d been in plenty of uncomfortable locker room situations before, heard plenty of ugly things, some of them even directed at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s get it over with.” Rip off the band-aid.

Mrs. Holt nodded at Pidge, who queued up the clip while their brother turned the lamp back off.

This time the footage was even grainier, if that were possible, but it was from a closer angle over a smaller room. The club’s distinctive shield crest was on prominent display on the wall directly across from the camera. Four adolescent boys lounged on curule seats and a settee in the curvaceous American Empire style, their Brooks Brothers kicked up on the cocktail table while a portrait of a man in a morning coat gazed sternly upon them from the adjacent wall.

The boys were dressed down in slim fit slacks and sweaters, passing around a bottle that bore the long neck and sloping shoulders emblematic of champagne. The time stamp on the footage showed that this was taking place roughly two hours before the cotillion officially started. Lotor’s extravagantly long hair made him the easiest to pick out among the small group. Two of his friends also sported long blond hair, though neither appeared to have hair quite as long or blond as Lotor’s. Wade’s overdeveloped deltoids also set him apart, if you knew what to look for. The high angle and low resolution were not doing any favors for positive ID otherwise.

Luckily, perhaps, the audio was much clearer. One of the boys asked another one to _“pass the Cristal,”_   because of course they were quaffing ridiculously expensive bubbly straight from the bottle like it was Boone’s Strawberry Hill.

Lotor leaned forward, elbows on knees, heedless of stretching out the fabric of his trousers. _“How do you boys feel about dipping tonight?”_

_“On your own party?”_   Wade sounded surprised.

_“I’d make it worth your while,”_   Lotor replied.

One of the other boys snorted. _“Are you going to frag coral?”_   The two unnamed boys guffawed and smacked each other’s arms.

_“I fancy spearing something more exotic than that ginger Trixie. Only I may need – oh, thank you Cossack.”_   Lotor accepted the champagne bottle, took a swig. _“I may need some assistance persuading my new friend that I am the mallard to his Duckie.”_   Then he snickered at his own outdated joke.

_“I thought you liked Coral?”_   Wade still sounded surprised.

_“My father likes Coral’s family connections.”_   Lotor tapped Wade on one enormous shoulder with the punt of the champagne bottle until Wade finally took it. “ _I’ll give her a few dances just to keep him off my back, but I’ve no interest in falling into her honey trap. Not when I’ve an altogether decent alternative with no strings attached. You ought to see this boy; he’s got legs up to his neck.”_   He took back the champagne bottle as it passed around to him, took a deep draw. _“Want them around my neck.”_

_“I call cobbs,”_   said the one called Cossack.

_“Dibs,”_   said his look-alike friend.

_“Syncline has dibs.”_ Wade was catching up.

_“Thanks Herbie. For your loyalty, you shall be my second.”_

_“Is there going to be fighting?”_   Looks-like-Cossack belted back the dregs of the champagne.

_“Wouldn’t that be exciting?”_   Lotor drawled. _“I doubt it Mogor, but one can never be too careful.”_

_“No roughhousing?”_   Mogor sounded disappointed.

_“If we get him drunk enough it won’t be necessary.”_

Pidge stopped the tape there. “They don’t talk about anything but what brands of booze they like after that.”

“I was thinking about leaving some of that part in the excerpt, to call out the companies they mentioned and encourage them to make a public statement on underage drinking. The more corporations that are forced to weigh in on this, the harder it will be to sweep under the rug.” Mrs. Holt had a fierce gleam in her eye, bringing her resemblance to Pidge to the surface. “But Pidge is correct, they stop talking about their planned assault right at this point.” She seemed to suddenly remember that there were personally affected parties present and turned sideways in her wingback chair to look at Lance. “How are you holding up sweetie?”

How was he holding up? He was cold, even with Keith’s body heat along his entire right side. It was one thing to be intellectually aware that Lotor had planned this. It was another to hear him discuss it in such a civilized tone, like deciding what to have for dinner. Like Lance was on a par with the aperitifs in terms of the evening’s priorities; an item for consumption and little more thought given to him than that.

Oh shit, his dinner was coming back up. Stomach acid crept up his esophagus and blended with the saliva flooding his mouth. Lance instinctively clapped a palm over his lips and tried to bolt from the couch, but the warm weight of Keith’s and Hunk’s arms, meant to soothe, impeded his escape.

Allura, bless her soul, immediately understood the signs of an imminent Lance barforama, having nursed him through a Norovirus not long after he came into her care. She leapt off the loveseat and reached the sofa in two strides. “He’s going to throw up,” she said, grasping Lance’s free hand to help him stand.

“The closest washroom is just down this hall, on your left,” Mrs. Holt replied, rising quickly to turn the light on in the hall across from the entryway.

The piano quintet on the soundtrack to the movie Hunk’s sisters were watching resonated through the closed wooden door to the master bedroom as they maneuvered into the hall. Mrs. Holt and Allura tried to smuggle Lance past that door as quietly and quickly as possible as Lance tried to hold onto the contents of his stomach. The music coming through the door was a strange comfort amid all of this, a detail to fix upon that didn’t judder with unexpectedly unsettling associations.

The tiny half bath was painted in a shade of green the color of tender young shoots. A bracketed sink perched directly across from the open door, and Lance considered just staggering over to it before Allura gently turned him to the right, where the corner toilet was crammed in beneath botanical art prints.

Her strong hands massaged his back while he lost the meal he’d enjoyed so much. Tears streamed down his cheeks and food-scented mucus slid past his nostrils as his solar plexus insisted on pushing every last morsel past his unwilling throat and into the porcelain basin. He fucking hated barfing. It just sucked on so many levels.

Finally it was done. Lance collapsed on his haunches as Allura smoothed back his clammy bangs. Someone passed a handful of baby wipes to Allura through the cracked open door. It was Hunk’s mother, hovering in the hallway. Allura gently wiped Lance’s eyes, his nose and cheeks.

“Better now?” she asked.

“My mouth tastes disgusting.” His voice was ragged.

Allura filled a tumbler at the bathroom sink. Lance used it to wash out as much aftertaste as he could.

Mrs. Holt joined the hallway vigil with a glass of ginger ale. “Sip slowly,” she said as she passed the glass to Lance. And that was how he reemerged into the living room, flanked by moms and with Allura walking backward in front of him trying to keep him from gulping down the ginger ale by holding onto the bottom of the glass.

The others stood in a tense clump near the entryway. Shiro had a firm hand on the back of Keith’s neck. Hunk lunged forward as soon as he saw Lance, but his mother whipped out the voice of authority saying “darle espacio” and he stopped right where he was.

“You okay?” Hunk folded his hands in front of him as if to restrain himself.

“Been better.” Damn, his voice still sounded rough.

Keith twisted out of Shiro’s grasp and dodged a grab from Dr. Holt to reach Lance’s side, but when he got there he stopped short of burrowing into his body heat like he’d done on the couch. “Can I touch you?” he asked, almost timidly.

“Yes.” Lance nodded. “Please.”

More slowly and gently than was his usual custom, Keith tucked himself into Lance’s body space and leaned against him. When Lance’s only reaction was to rest his temple against Keith’s, he brought Lance into a loose hug.

“We’ll give you some time to process this,” Mrs. Holt was saying, but Lance didn’t need anymore time. He was pretty sure he’d made up his mind while watching the dessert Hunk had worked so hard to prepare for him swirl down the drain.

“I want to go forward with your plan,” he said. He was shaken, he was still scared, but underneath it all, he was starting to get pissed off.

“You’re sure?” Allura pinched the glass of ginger ale at the rim by her fingertips. Shiro had stepped up close behind her and was observing Lance solemnly over her shoulder. “No one will blame you if you don’t want to take the chance.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Lance briefly met the eyes of every person in his field of vision. “He’s obviously done this before. He shouldn’t be allowed to keep getting away with it. I want him to be exposed.” He licked his lips, took a deep breath. “It’s worth taking the chance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> budae jjigae - Literally 'army base stew,' it is a Korean fusion dish that incorporates a number of US Army surplus items into a kimchi stew base. It is a classic tale of a dish with a history associated with strife that retained its popularity far past the contingencies which brought about its invention.
> 
> caballero - 'gentleman'
> 
> sláinte - 'To your health'
> 
> pastelón - Caribbean casserole made with layers of plantains, picadillo, and cheese, also sometimes referred to as 'Puerto Rican lasagna.'
> 
> Trixie - It is a truth universally acknowledged that no matter where you go, there is some sort of slang meant to describe nouveau riche youths of a silly disposition. 80's preppy culture had Buffy and Biff. Chicago has Trixie and Chad.
> 
> darle espacio - 'Make space'


	14. I wanna be the one to walk in the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tune in tonight as Colleen Holt brings us a shocking special report about the corrupting influences of alcohol and unrestricted privilege on our city's upper class youths..."
> 
> "...trust me when I say you do not want to change that channel! The final competition is happening live, right here, and you won't want to miss a second of it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the kudos!
> 
> "Hey, here I am. I hear the universe sing the celestial swing. I am not alone. Are you receiving me clear, there's others out here." - Dancing in Heaven (Orbital Be-bop), performed by Q-Feel

 

“I’m giving this back to you so that you can reach me in a hurry if you need to,” Allura handed over Lance’s phone, “but if it’s a real emergency I want you to dial 911 first.” She was going out to a sports bar with Shiro to watch the evening news and gauge public reaction to Colleen Holt’s feature story, leaving Lance locked in the flat like a Disney princess.

“You look cute,” Lance replied as he pocketed his phone. “Don’t worry about me, have fun on your date.”

“It’s not a date!” Allura insisted. “But thank you.” She was casually majestic in a layered tunic over riding breeches and boots, her mother’s aventurine earrings dangling against a tumble of carefully arranged hair. A close sillage of lilies and oakmoss met his nose when he gave her a quick hug.

Lance wasn’t under any illusions about her intentions with that outfit any more than he was under the illusion that she was going to refrain from using his phone’s GPS to track him while she was gone. He also wasn’t all that worried about Lotor trying to break into the flat while Allura was out, because he knew exactly where that asshole was going to be tonight.

It was the same place Lance planned to be. He was just going to have to get a little more creative about it than he’d anticipated. He stood before the bay windows in the living room and watched the Subaru disappear around the corner before retreating to his bedroom to grab the burner phone.

_“My dude,”_   was how Matt chose to answer the line.

“Qué bola,” Lance replied, “I think I have a problem.”

_“How big of a problem? On a scale of minor to catastrophic.”_

“My cousin gave me my phone back.”

_“If she’s going to be tracking your location on an app you’ll have to leave the phone at home.”_

“If she calls it and I don’t answer, she’ll stress out and start looking for me, and I really don’t want either of those things to happen.” Lance felt guilty about going behind her back again, but he had to see this through to the end. He didn’t want to let down Keith and Coran. But more than that, the thought of conceding defeat to Lotor by letting his plan do its intended job burned like acid in his gut.

_“Okay, here’s what you do.”_

Matt walked Lance through how to forward his calls from his smartphone to the burner phone without any noticeable lag on the caller’s end.

Once that was done, Lance pulled his snapback cap off and fluffed his hair. The blue balayage Matt and Pidge had put in during their study session the night before looked so good that he wished he didn’t have to dye over it for school Monday. Lance put on his costume, dragged loose sweats on over it, hiked his messenger bag over his shoulder and huddled on the window sill by the fire escape to wait for his ride.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The beat cop looked at the license prominently displayed on Rover, and then at the three kids manning the cart. “You say you’re a subcontractor under Sal?”

“Yes sir.” Hunk stood with both hands visibly empty and relaxed, and tried to emit trustworthy vibes. Shay beamed wholesomely on one side of him. Pidge glared spitefully on the other (luckily their glasses hid most of that or they’d probably already be in the back of a patrol car).

Officer Grumpy looked over the paperwork Hunk had produced which proved that he had a business agreement with one Salazar Vipari, and that all of the food being stored and sold from Rover had been prepared in Sal’s catering kitchen. Of course the ultimate goal was to prepare all the food in Rover, but that wouldn’t be advisable for operating the cart as a retail establishment inside city limits and anyway this was just a test run.

And a mighty successful test run it had been, too. Sure this police officer was monopolizing the last fifteen minutes of their two hour allotment to use this corner, but they’d managed to sell off way more of their inventory than they’d projected, and Hunk fully intended to remind Pidge of that fact once the officer finally took his leave.

“All right then.” The officer – he hadn’t introduced himself, but his badge said his name was Varkon – handed the paperwork back to Hunk. “Tell Sal to bring those fried polenta chips next time he comes out this way.”

“Yes sir.”

Two pairs of eyes gleamed hysterically and one pair glinted dangerously after Officer Varkon as he moseyed on down the block eating a complimentary soda muffin. 

“Well that was an experience,” Hunk said as soon as the officer was out of sight.

“That’s an understatement,” Shay sighed. “We still managed to do pretty good though, don’t you think?”

Pidge was muttering under their breath about what they thought Varkon would look like with some meatball accessories – which, really, what a terrible waste of the meatballs – so Hunk laid some facts on them.

“We did better than pretty good,” he said. Pretty good, to his mind, would have been breaking even. “We made a profit.”

That got Pidge’s attention. Their head whipped around, eyes wide and alert behind their glasses. “Wait, we did?”

“See for yourself.” Hunk plucked the iPad mini they were using for point of sale transactions out of his apron pocket and swiped over to the ledger. “It’s a sweet take for our first time out.” Even factoring in Sal’s cut and taxes owed they’d still made money. On top of that they could afford to eat their leftover stock as a to-go meal. Win win.

“No shit!” Pidge looked over Hunk’s shoulder with an eager grin. Hunk gave a moment’s thought to asking them not to swear, then completely forgot it when he caught sight of the tablet’s clock.

“Me cago en ná, the contest starts in twenty minutes!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Someday my prince will come, someday we’ll meet again, and away to his castle we’ll go…”

Cooler weather had returned to the city. Lance had opened the window to enjoy it, and his voice was probably carrying. Give him five minutes without any other outlet and he would start singing. It was no wonder Allura thought he might like choir.

“I don’t have a castle. Will Matt’s car do?” Keith had snuck up the fire escape like a ninja _again_.

The Holts had given his hair a red dip-dye and an application of shine boosting product that smelled like candy. He sported a pale gradient lip and tightlined eyes with a pop of plum shadow on his lower lids, a much more subtle look than the last time Lance had seen him with makeup on, but no less stunning.

“Lead on, bonbon.” Lance sprang off the ledge and out the window, closing it behind him but not locking it.

“After you honey buns.”

Joke was on Keith, because Lance had an excellent view of his bonbon as he climbed down the fire escape with Keith climbing down after him. Black faux leather skinny pants stretched in all the right ways and places. Keith hadn’t bothered with any disguise to cover his costume.

They were climbing past the middle neighbor’s flat when they heard a little girl’s voice squeal, “I told you Flynn Rider was outside!”

“Oh shit I forgot,” Keith’s soft exhalation came from above, before he straight up threw himself over the railing and dropped to the ground like freaking Nightwing.

“What the fuck?” Lance tried to keep his panic voice low enough to avoid detection while scurrying for the last rungs of the fire escape. From within the apartment, an older woman’s accented voice called out, “No Fala, don’t go out there, it’s not safe!”

“Lance, jump.” Keith stood below him with his arms out. “I’ll catch you.”

“I want to see Flynn!” The child’s voice was way too close to the window.

“No es fácil,” Lance whispered before twisting and leaping.

His feet hit the ground with a jarring thump and Keith staggered a moment against his momentum before his arms came up and around Lance, holding him tight.

“See?” Keith’s pretty lips were close enough to kiss. “Told you I’d catch you.”

“Will you guys hurry the fuck up?” Matt’s silhouette appeared in the alley’s entryway. “I’m overparked!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I’m serious Mother, Ivan can hook me up with a Vera Wang.” Lotor stood in the wings, looking over the other loitering contestants with a critical eye as he waited for Throk to return from his expedition to see about getting them a private dressing room.

_“You will wear your cousin’s design and that is final.”_   Cell phone reception inside the studio was really quite exceptional. He could hear her annoyance as if she were standing right next to him. _“I’m not making excuses for you with your father just so that you can neglect your family duty altogether.”_

Lotor didn’t see how being seen in public wearing an unknown designer was upholding family duty, but he understood that tone meant Mother had reached her limit. “Fine,” he said, “but if her design costs me points I will publicly denounce her.”

_“You’ll do no such thing.”_

“What was that Mother?” Lotor rubbed the phone’s microphone against the collar of his polo coat. “I can’t hear you, must be a bad signal.” Then he hung up on her.

Throk came lumbering back with that red-haired presenter trotting along at his heels. Good. One mess would at least be squared away.

“Mr. Drule!” The man sounded positively convivial. “Mr. Throk here tells me that you have not been shown the privacy screens available in the contestants’ dressing room. I apologize for that oversight and would be more than happy to send for a gofer to show you how to use them.”

“Privacy screen?” Actually, Lotor had noticed those and dismissed them. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Throk hadn’t spotted them at all. The only private areas at Castle Doom were the champagne rooms. “No, you misunderstand. We need a private dressing room.”

“Oh dear me.” The presenter’s cheery expression never faltered. “So sorry for the confusion. All of our dancers share a dressing room. It helps build team spirit. Only special guest stars are given private rooms.”

“What?” Was he away with the fairies? “But I am a special guest star!”

“You are a contestant on a special episode of Dance TV.” The presenter’s blue eyes took on a sharper gleam. “I can see how that would be easy to misinterpret.”

“I’m sure you won’t misinterpret me leaving immediately.” Lotor ignored the gaping disappointment on Throk’s face as he turned towards the exit.

“Alright then,” said the presenter, completely unbothered. “If you wish to forfeit I cannot stop you.”

“Nor can you stop me from staying.” Throk’s shoulders slumped in relief at Lotor’s about-face. “Do send for your porters, I shall be requiring their services if I’m to make do with mere privacy screens.”

“Of course.” The presenter clicked his heels and headed back the way he’d come, calling back over his shoulder, “I’ll send Sandu along as soon as he’s free.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Your skin is so nice, I hate to cover it up.” Matt hovered over Lance in the Honda’s back seat dabbing soft focus foundation on his face with a blending sponge under the dappled light of rapidly approaching and receding street lamps.

“I know, right?” This from Keith, muscling through the increasing traffic with a blithe lack of concern that made Lance understand how he might have gotten in trouble before while driving this very same car.

“Eyes on the road please.” Matt rifled through his makeup bag. “Speaking of eyes though, I’ve got a cool idea for yours.” He pulled out a vial of sparkly blue liquid eyeshadow and held it up for Lance’s perusal.

Lance nodded his approval. “I trust you, man.”

“Excellent!” Matt grinned. “Now hold still while I wave this wand and make the magic happen.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Hey man.” The swing dancing contestant whom Nyma had argued for so passionately, Roland but he went by some ridiculous nickname, exited Nyma’s dressing room with a smile and a wave, utterly nonchalant as if he weren’t flirting with scandal just by doing exactly what he was doing.

Coran watched him go and counted to ten before knocking on Nyma’s door.

“Enter,” she said, so he did.

“What the bloody devil was that?” was maybe not the most diplomatic way to start that conversation, but really, what the bloody devil was that?

“Oh, hi Coran.” Nyma appeared to be in the process of packing her costumes into a wardrobe box. “Would you hand me the mask with the feathers on it? I can’t quite reach.”

Coran yanked the feathered mask down off its perch on a hat hook and dropped it on her growing pile. “You realize we have a spoilt brat of a contestant raising an unholy stench about not getting his own dressing room, and meanwhile you’re allowing another contestant into yours?”

Nyma had the nerve to roll her eyes. “Yes I heard. Don’t worry Coran, I’ve got this under control.”

 “Are you taking advantage of him, or is he taking advantage of you?”

Nyma straightened her posture, looking completely serious for the first time in this conversation. “Coran you don’t need to worry. Rolo and I aren’t going to try to throw the contest or risk the show. This will all make sense after the contest is over.”

“What’s all this, then?” Coran gestured to the wardrobe box overflowing with costume paraphernalia, and a large makeup case open on the vanity table filled to the brim with stage makeup that he recalled had previously cluttered up the tabletop.

Nyma smiled, almost sadly. “It’ll make sense later, I promise you. It’s probably a good thing there’s not a Nyma with the news segment on tonight, though.”

“Oh dear lord in heaven.” The clues that had twigged Coran’s subconscious finally caught up to his conscious mind. No wonder Nyma had been playing so coy about renewing her contract. He thought she’d simply been angling for a raise. “You couldn’t have just written a resignation letter like anybody else?”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“If this is the best you can do,” Lotor sniffed.

He had staked out a vanity table at the back of the large dressing room and the manservant that capering ginger creature sent – Sandu, his name was – had cordoned it off with bluebell-patterned room dividers.

Sandu stood, wiping his forehead with the bandana that had previously been holding back his atrocious pageboy haircut. “Tell Coran if you need more help,” he said, tapping the walkie talkie clipped to his coveralls. “He will radio me.” If he gave a tinker’s damn about Lotor’s constructive criticism, he didn’t show it.

“Let’s hope that isn’t necessary,” Lotor snapped.

Sandu shrugged. “Very well.” And then he left.

Lotor threw himself into the vanity chair, which was bolted to the floor. Puh-lease, as if he wanted to make off with something upholstered in leatherette. This night was not proving to be as glamorous as he had hoped. Throk had disappeared somewhere, probably off to find alcohol wherever he could. Lotor had to double check his hair and makeup, touch up anything that might have melted off in the stress of the evening, and all without the aid of a licensed beautician. But first, he needed to wrap up one last detail. He drew his cell phone back out of his coat pocket.

“Hello Herbie. No, we haven’t started yet. Yes, I’m calling from backstage. No, it’s not very exciting, but then I haven’t taken the stage yet, have I? I need you to do something for me, to make sure I can do my best. Yes Herbie, I can only trust you with this.

“Go to that twink’s apartment and make sure he’s still there.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“¡Cuidado!” Lance held his arms straight out in front of him as if he could control the car using the Force.

“It’s illegal to drive a motorized vehicle on the sidewalk, you lunatic!” Matt held onto the back of the passenger’s side bucket seat for dear life.

“Technically I’m not driving on the sidewalk.” All four wheels hit the gravel as soon as they cleared the long line of honking stalled traffic. “See? It’s all good. Now we can turn right!”

“Ay de mi.”

“Don’t smear your makeup, your setting spray is still drying.” Matt grabbed onto Lance’s hand like a security blanket. He’d nearly wound up in Lance’s lap when Keith had pulled his little stunt maneuver.

“You guys can relax now.” Keith spared a concerned glance in the rearview mirror. “We’re going to make it just in time!”

“Yes that’s important,” Lance agreed. “So is getting there alive! Pendejo!”

“I don’t know what you just called me but I think it was uncalled for.” Keith pouted.

Ay por Dios.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Rover’s partially collapsible design had passed all tests with flying colors. The three teens had no problems loading it into the cargo space of the Ford Expedition they’d borrowed from Shay’s father, and they made it to the Arus building with full bellies and a few minutes to spare. Just as they pulled up to the curb a familiar green car screeched up right behind them, wheels smoking.

“Hell’s bells, he did it again,” Pidge said as the occupants of the Expedition all watched Matt Holt erupt from the back of the Honda and yank open the driver’s side door.

“I’ll park, you go now!” Matt waved his arms like a ramp agent as Keith emerged from the driver’s seat with a rather sulky deportment. Lance surfaced from the same door Matt had left open, and wow, was that a star painted around his entire right eye or had Matt’s makeup kit burst open in the backseat? The asymmetrical makeup look was working for Lance that was for sure.

Hunk turned from the drama by the car to Pidge perched on the armrest between his and Shay’s seats. “You might want to go tell your brother we can afford the parking garage before he peels out,” he said.

“On it.” They snatched up the wrapped slice of focaccia they’d saved for Matt and scrambled over Shay’s lap as she obligingly opened the driver’s side door.

“Tell him to follow me,” Shay called after them; they waved to acknowledge they heard her.

Hunk turned to her. “You don’t want me to do that for you?”

Shay laughed. “It’s my dad’s SUV. Besides, I know how much you love this show. I don’t want you to miss anything.”

Hunk leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” She smiled back at him so winningly he kissed her lovely mouth. She laughed again, breathlessly. “All right now, go, before I change my mind and just drive you home with me.”

Hunk stole one more kiss before getting out of the vehicle.

“You look outrageous,” Pidge was saying to Lance as Hunk caught up to the small group speed walking towards the revolving door. “Truly, truly, truly outrageous.”

“Shut up,” Lance replied with a laugh in his voice.

“Oh, so now you’re not mad anymore?” Keith was definitely out of sorts.

“I’m sorry I called you a pendejo.”

Ouch.

“But you could have killed us or gotten the car impounded, amor.”

“Keith!” Pidge was starting to look mulish again.

“I got us here on time and in one piece!” And now Keith was looking appropriately frightened, in spite of the defensiveness in his tone.

“Alright let’s stop,” Hunk said, “and meditate for a minute on what our goal is tonight.”

“We’re gonna win.” Lance turned to the others and there was fire in his eyes. His sparkly, glittery made-up eyes.

“Yeah.” Keith nodded, making his hair bounce and behave. The Holts must have styled it with magic. “Starting is half the job. We can finish this.”

Lance smiled and winked. “And then after, I’m going to collect on those I.O.U.s and you can screw up my makeup.”

“You’re on.” Keith offered back a tiny smirk.

“Minute’s up.” Pidge put their hands on the revolving door bar. “You guys are gross.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Live from Chicago, and you know what that means!” Coran tried to keep his delivery upbeat in spite of the concerns trying to percolate to the surface of his thoughts. “It’s the night you’ve all been waiting for! Tonight we’ll find out who has the right stuff to join our DTV studio dancers! We’ve assembled a special panel of judges to pick the best of the best!”

The camera panned over the judges table, which included three senior producers for the show and two TV stars chosen by the network. If only Jonathan and Lee hadn’t been on their honeymoon. Having them on the panel would have been a ratings lock, not to mention removing any doubt that the votes would be cast with an eye towards actually improving the show and not just a moment’s fancy. Ah well, que será será and all of that.

Up in the control booth, Ollie ran the B-Roll showing footage from the Millennium Park auditions, with an intentional emphasis on the goofier contestants. Coran continued his intro over it.

“We auditioned hundreds of pairs to select our seven finalist couples, and tonight they’ll compete to win a spot on the show!”

The B-Roll continued to play, now focusing on the auditions of the pairs who had made the cut.

“We’ll have more videos of the auditions up on our website in the coming days, but trust me when I say you do not want to change that channel! The final competition is happening live, right here, and you won’t want to miss a second of it!”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Just let me call my father.”

Wade had eagerly accepted his assignment of the evening, anticipating seeing the famous legs he’d been promised and denied, and getting some payback for the insult to his manhood which had forced him to sleep with ice in his shorts that night.

He had not anticipated being accosted by a police officer and a portly older woman screaming in German in the alley. Nor had he anticipated that being invited to escape from the woman in the officer’s car meant he wouldn’t be able to get back out again once he’d caught his breath. The back of the patrol car stank like a zoo exhibit and he’d been forced to sit through the officer reciting something named after some woman called Miranda when he’d asked if they could at least listen to some music on the way to the station.

“Your driver’s license says you’re eighteen years old.” The officer gave him a flat stare by way of the rearview mirror.

“Yes I am. How does this relate to contacting my father?”

The officer smiled. Wade’s reptilian brain recognized something unsettling in it.

“You’re not a minor. We’ll be contacting the house shrink first. Then you can talk to Daddy.”

The house shrink? “You don’t think I have some strange desire for old ladies, do you?” Wade laughed incredulously. “I mean, I know some reprobates do, I’ve heard the stories, but I wasn’t- I was only there for the cute thing upstairs, I swear it!”

This did not have the desired effect on the officer’s attitude. “I’m going to get real satisfaction out of booking you.” Not in the slightest.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You may have seen our first couple’s posters around town! They’d actually never met before the auditions but they certainly have hit it off since then! Separately they are Merla Morrigan and Twyla Ermen, but together they are Twerla!”

The camera panned away from Coran as the music started ( _Are you ready? Here we go_ ) to show an enormous poster hung from the rafters. Technically it wasn’t against the rules for the contestants to bring props, as long as they supplied the props themselves and got them cleared for safety with Ollie. Twyla, who was a multimedia artist, had designed the poster which featured running legs out of focus in the background and enormous font reading TWERLA in the foreground. Twerla was the pair’s portmanteau, which they had embraced to a degree none of the other contestants had, not even the ones who had auditioned as established pairs.

Twyla swept on stage, her Inverness cape, top hat and portentous movements at odds with the synthy-jangly post-punk cover of a New Wave song that had been chosen for the competition. She stopped in front of the poster, raised her arms to it, and bowed, like Drosselmeyer raising the Christmas tree in the Nutcracker. It was quite a good Drosselmeyer, at that; Coran had once seen a Drosselmeyer in a community theater production who had raised the tree by wiggling his hips like Elvis and then dancing a little jig, so he knew from bad Drosselmeyers.

Merla vaulted through the center of the poster with absolutely no warning, sending curls of the paper flying in all directions. Cutting an intimidating figure in a grungy tutu and combat boots, the purple haired punk ripped Twyla’s top hat off her emo green head and sent it sailing into the audience, much to their loud approval. Then the two were off, and they were magnificent. They treated the musical cues like mere suggestions, radiating a chemistry that was off the charts. A quick glance down the row of judges showed Coran that he was not the only one feeling pleasantly off balance.

Then Twerla disqualified themselves by parkouring off the sign. Ah, well. There was an excellent chance neither of them really gave a toot. Still…

“Don’t lose Twerla’s contact information,” Coran said to the Assistant Floor Manager Bibow McBee, who was standing behind him at the prompt corner. “Jonathan and Lee are looking to book some dancers for recurring spots on their show and I think these two would be perfect foils for the lovebirds.”

Stage hands swiftly removed the debris from the torn poster during commercial break, and then it was off to the races again.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Well?”

Dr. Krikor pressed his fingers against his temples as if that would ward off his incipient headache (it wouldn’t, which he very well knew). “This kid is crackers,” he told the Commander and the arresting officer. “He’s a predator for sure, but he wasn’t after the little girl.”

“Say what?” Officer Key had taken a liking to Mrs. Kinder and her young charge. “Who was he after then?”

“It would appear that he was intending to peep on the teenage boy who lives above them.”

“Picked him up for one thing and busted him for something different.” Commander Steele shook his head. “Ain’t that just the way.”

“Oh just wait,” Dr. Krikor said, “because there’s more. He’s pushing a story about being the go-between in a lover’s spat, except he’s got no explanation for why he went for the fire escape instead of just knocking on the front door. He wasn’t lying about being a big shot’s kid either. His old man is sending lawyers over, they’ll be here to spring him any minute. I want to commit him for a more formal evaluation, but I don’t know if I’ve got enough to hold him that long.”

“Hey boss.” The communications officer poked his head in the door, drummed his fingers on the frame.

“Not now Sparky,” said the Commander.

“You’re going to want to see this.” Sparks was not deterred. “Turn on the news, I think Colleen Holt’s talking about your pervert.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Our next contestants also met during the auditions, but they didn’t audition with each other! Ginger Ellington competed in several open auditions before finally winning the chance to perform for you tonight!”

Coran prided himself on being able to adjust to any last minute edits to the teleprompter without the audience ever being the wiser, but this was a true test of his abilities.

“Dancing with her is Roland Orlando, who I’m just now being told also contributed the guitar track on the song you’re listening to.”

He’d thought they’d lucked out when another recording by the same unsigned band who supplied the audition song found its way across their music supervisor’s desk, but now he knew it was no accident of fortune. He spotted Nyma standing in the wings and met and held her gaze. To anyone who did not know him, his smile would have seemed benefic, but Nyma had known him long enough to know better. Her answering smile was pained, but she didn’t really look sorry either, damn her.

Ginger and Roland took the stage in a free spin. Roland wore a zoot suit, one with the muted shine of a vintage piece that had been well cared-for. Ginger had on a short blue number with cutouts and rhinestones that Coran happened to know had once been her majorette uniform, but she’d unstitched the school insignia and replaced the Nancy boots with character shoes. They were an aesthetic mismatch – the neckline was too low and the bodice too close for Ginger’s leo to pass for a flapper dress – but they did appear to be having a great deal of fun.

Then they separated and did something that involved jazz hands and some kind overhead reach maneuver.

“Ooh! I know this move.” McBee had crept up right next to Coran, a habit which usually drove him crazy during taping but he simply could not be bothered tonight. “I’ve done this before on the Wii!”

Before Coran could wonder how that element made it into their routine, the pair came back together in an energetic Foxtrot that made Ginger’s shimmy fringe fly about.

_Slow, slow, quick quick, slow_.

Coran glanced over at the judge’s table. These producers were higher on the food chain than the ones who had presided over the open auditions. There’d be no sentimental votes coming from this bunch. One of the TV stars looked enthused about what she was watching, but the other one looked confused.

It was very doubtful this couple would even place high when the scores were tallied, but Coran had a feeling that Roland at least would still be getting what he’d wanted.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The dance contestants had each been given two complimentary passes for guests to view the show in the studio auditorium, and Lance and Keith had given their passes to Hunk, Shay, Matt and Pidge. The four of them were seated house right, which turned out to be the perfect angle for viewing the contestants as they were emerging from the wings. They could also see some of the DTV personnel hanging out just out of camera range.

“Psst.” Pidge poked their bony little finger right into the meat of Hunk’s shoulder. “Isn’t that Nyma?”

Hunk looked where they were pointing, and sure enough there was a tall, lean woman standing off right watching the couple who had auditioned with Lance and Keith. Hunk squinted at her. He was used to seeing Nyma in wild costumes and avant garde makeup, and headdresses that completely hid her hair. This woman was dressed down in minimal makeup and athleisure wear, her butterscotch hair in messy braids with purple lens sunglasses pushed up on her head.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Her face shape is right. So is the ratio of her torso to her limbs.”

“Of course you figured it out based on that,” Matt piped up from Pidge’s other side. “Face it Pidgeon, you’ve got a crush.”

“No I the hell do not!” Pidge hissed out just loud enough that the patrons seated in front of them glanced back over their shoulders. “She is not my type! She’s too… too…”

“Too cute?”

Hunk clapped a hand over Pidge’s mouth before they could holler. “I don’t want to get kicked out of here before we get to see our friends dance,” he said.

Pidge simmered down, but not before kicking their brother in the shin. After Rolo and Ginger, they watched three other couples take their turns: a husband and wife team who could have passed for siblings, a couple dressed like orange cats, and a couple who actually made Hunk nervous for a moment with how skilled they were, before it became clear that their chemistry was too businesslike to make them a serious threat.

Coran announced a brief intermission for commercial break and Pidge launched out of their seat like a bottle rocket.  “I’m gonna go talk to Nyma,” they said before clambering over the seats in front of them to get to the stage deck stairs faster, and leaving annoyed audience members fussing in their wake.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Coran watched a child from the complimentary seating section step on several peoples’ heads and shoulders to get to the stage risers before disappearing into the greenroom with Nyma. He wanted to follow them and find out what the hell was going on but McBee was frantically signaling that they were back from commercial.

“Next up we have Roy Throk and Lotor Drule! Lotor tells us he’s wearing a one of a kind Honerva Tabor original!”

_Kick it out._

He’d give the Drule boy this: he had confidence. Not many fellows his age would be willing to wear a skin-tight, cold-shoulder lamé jumpsuit with the high-heeled boots attached, no matter how rich or beautiful they were.

Rather than wait for an introduction, Drule had taken position onstage during the commercial break, reclining his shiny arse in an arched-back pose on the middle tier stage left. As soon as Coran was done with his intro, Drule imperiously snapped his fingers, prompting Throk, dressed in dance tights and a deep v-necked top the likes of which Coran hadn’t seen since the ‘70’s, to bound all the way over from stage right and then leap up to the top tier so that he could then lean down and pull Drule out of his supine posture and up onto the top tier with him.

Throk did a pike down to floor level, and then turned to catch Drule around the middle as he came down after him in pas de poisson. Throk used Drule’s momentum to swing him down into a fish dive, then placed him back on his feet and threw him into a pique turn.

Coran had to admit that he was quite impressed with Throk’s vigor.

Drule classical walked back to Throk, who pressed him up into an angel lift before slowly setting him on his feet once again. Coran watched him carefully, to confirm to himself what he was seeing – or rather, what he wasn’t seeing. Drule’s form looked good and there was undeniable skill in remaining composed during a lift, but where was the variety? Throk’s more dynamic floorcraft was distracting from the fact that Drule had a few ballet moves he was very good at, and he was loathe to deviate from that style.

Coran glanced over at the judges to get a read on their reactions. The producers were as stony faced as usual, but the two TV stars both looked entranced. You never knew if you were going to get judges well versed in the basics when the network imposed their choices.

Bugger it all if he wound up having to work with that manchild due to misguided scoring.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“I can’t believe those jerks.” Pidge was absolutely fuming. They could no longer deny they’d harbored a fantasy of blowing Nyma’s mind with how much better they could do her hair and makeup than whoever was doing it now. They’d show up one day out of the blue, maybe their Mom would be doing a feature on the show or something, and they’d challenge Nyma and her crew to a makeup-off. Once Nyma saw what Pidge could do, she wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch her face. And then maybe she could be convinced to lay off the ill-advised catchphrases too.

But it didn’t matter because all this time, Nyma had been stumping for her band and planning her exit. The band’s agent had convinced some A&R scouts to watch Rolo compete to the band’s own cover of “Dancing in Heaven (Orbital Be-Bop),” and they liked what they saw and heard. Nyma and Rolo had just left to join the rest of the band at the agent’s office to start the first round of phone conference meetings.

“I can’t believe he left me here.”

Oh, and it wasn’t bad enough that Nyma had popped their fantasy bubble. Rolo had also left them here alone in the greenroom with his dance partner, who was presently turning her mascara into cheek stripes.

“Who- who am I going to dance with now?”

Pidge knew this girl didn’t stand a chance against the stronger competitors in the contest, no matter who she danced with. Even the couple dressed as Catman and Kitten looked more adept, and they had clearly not gotten in enough practice with the capes on.

But as much as Pidge believed in the cold light of truth, they didn’t have the heart to say it to the blubbering mess in front of them. They remembered she’d been forgiving of Keith’s rampant bad manners during the open auditions. The simple kindness of her tolerance counted for a lot with Pidge.

“Come with me,” they said, holding out a hand.

“And go where?” The girl didn’t sound enthused, but she took Pidge’s hand without compunction.

“To find the dressing room. I’m gonna make you look fucking awesome.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance locked eyes with Keith one last time while they waited for their cue to hit the stage. Keith had matched his smoking hot pants with a black t-shirt picked out in red embroidery designed to look like flames. Lance was in blue harem pants and a matching cropped t-shirt embroidered with stylized silvery waves.

“We got this,” Lance said, willing himself to believe it.

“Hell yeah we do,” Keith replied, looking like he meant it.

_Hey, here I am._

Coran launched into his introduction and there was no more time for doubts. “Our final contestants started their partnership in this competition at odds with one another. Let’s see how far they’ve come! Welcome Keith Kim and Lance Martinez!”

_I am not alone._

Lance led Keith out onto the floor in a series of traveling turns and then pulled him into a cartwheel aerial. Then Keith took over the lead and leaned into Lance with some body rolls before supporting Lance in a split lunge.

_Dancing in heaven, I never thought I’d ever get my feet this far._

Keith spun Lance back on his feet and they separated into Criss Cross before launching into combos of kickball change, heel toe, glides, and shuffle kicks at breakneck speed. Then they dropped to the floor in a spin down to a helicopter to a rise up. Lance’s abs burned like Keith’s shirt by the end of it, but there was no time to catch his breath. Lance did a back walkover to the top tier and a jump up from his knees.

Keith had run up to the top tier ahead of him and was back flipping off it as he was going up. By the time Lance got his feet under him again, Keith was waiting below like fiery Romeo to his aqueous Juliet. Lance leaned into the fire. Keith caught his wave, holding him up in a modified Star lift before executing a rollerblind release.

Lance pulled Keith into a series of natural turns; Keith’s smile was the sun on a tropical sea. Keith released his hand from Lance’s shoulder to bring them into open position and take back the lead. He spun Lance around twice, and when they closed again Keith’s hand was moving to Lance’s upper back in preparation for the coup de grace.

Lance fell back against Keith’s knee like water falling over El Nicho. Keith’s grip was strong and steady. Lance extended his leg (come on abs, just a little more) but instead of grinning cheekily at the audience, he beamed up at Keith, trying to imbue that one look with the swell of emotions he felt for this boy. Keith blushed and smiled his little sphinx smile before smartly snapping Lance back to his feet.

They did have one move left that was just for the audience, though. In perfect unison, they faced the seats and dabbed.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Shiro had chosen an upscale sports bar that attracted tourists and locals alike, and reserved a booth so that they could commandeer a television screen without starting an unnecessary commotion. They had been able to switch their channel to Colleen Holt’s report without hassle, distracting a few people in their immediate vicinity from their sports programming to watch the news instead. Allura felt relieved when most of what they overheard was surprise and distress, and not blaming the victim. She might have started a commotion of her own otherwise.

Now that she had her attention refocused on her surroundings, she took in the venue’s warm wood paneling under the glow of Edison bulbs and approved of Shiro’s taste. She also approved of the pork belly he’d recommended. Shiro had not been exaggerating its crackly-buttery deliciousness, it reminded her a lot of chicharrón. She sipped her egg cream and observed him across the table.

He took a pull of his Kirin Light, muscles straining against a purple button-down shirt as he leaned his elbows on the oak surface, smiling down at his cell phone. He glanced up, noticed her watching him. “I found some old mp4s I uploaded to the Cloud of Keith dancing,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He gestured for her to lean across the booth so that he could share the screen of his phone. “That kid always loved to dance.”

The phone’s screen showed shaky cam of what looked like a grade school play of some sort. On the stage, children tilted under the weight of foam costumes, all of them dressed as vegetables.

_“I am a carrot!”_   shouted a kid dressed as a carrot, _“I’m high in vitamins and minerals and fiber and aromatic acids and also carotenoids because I am a carrot!”_   The crowd of parents applauded. The kid looked as ecstatic as a carrot could look.

“Was that Keith?” It was difficult to make out the actual children under those costumes.

“No.” Shiro laughed. “Believe it or not, that was Matt. They were supposed to memorize some facts about the vegetables they were playing, but Keith decided to do an interpretive dance instead. Here comes Keith.”

A kid dressed as broccoli swayed to the front of the stage. It quickly became evident that the child was not swaying because of overbalance from the foam florets that lent him an extra foot of height. He was swaying on purpose. A teacher whisper-shouted from the wings about broccoli being high in calcium. Broccoli Keith ignored the teacher and began to whirl about the stage like a top-heavy dervish. The crowd tittered. Then the child abruptly flopped backwards onto the stage, the foam both stealing his grace and breaking his fall. The teacher trotted over to help him up but for some reason he wasn’t having it, planking his little body for all it was worth. The crowd erupted in uproarious laughter.

“Did he mean to do that?” Allura wanted to laugh too, but wasn’t sure if it was meant to be funny.

“Oh yes.” Shiro was still laughing. “He did. Here’s his explanation.”

The next video file dated a couple of hours later showed an extremely young Keith giggling and rolling around on a corduroy couch, and goodness he was adorable as a child.

_“You want to tell us what you were doing buddy?”_   The voice had the reediness of youth but it was definitely Shiro, and he sounded very amused.

_“Okay.”_   Little Keith shoved himself off the couch and stood in the middle of what looked like a living room. There was an elderly Asian woman standing in the entrance to the next room, smiling indulgently whenever the camera panned in that direction.

Little Keith started swaying. His balance was much better without the florets. _“I’m in the field,”_   he said. Then he started the whirling, and it was much more energetic without foam weighing him down. _“I’m being picked!”_ He nearly knocked over a teacup on the coffee table, the elderly lady made a noise of alarm. _“I’m on the truck!”_   Then he dropped to the floor, the coffee table blocking the view. Shaky cam ensued as Shiro ran over. The camera refocused overhead on Little Keith lying on the floor like – well, like broccoli.

_“You okay there buddy?”_

Little Keith’s eyes opened and he grinned. _“I’m on your plate!”_

The video ended on young Shiro’s incredulous laugh and Little Keith’s giggling.

Allura let loose her laughter. Present day Shiro had tears leaking out of his eyes.

“Oh man.” Shiro’s laughter started to die down. “I’d forgotten how he used to dance everywhere. Even to the washroom. Maybe I should have pushed him harder to audition for ChiArts.”

“ChiArts?”

“Chicago High School for the Arts,” Shiro clarified.

“Is that like the “Fame” school?”

Shiro nodded. “Pretty much.”

This was a surprise to Allura. “He didn’t want to go?”

Shiro sighed. “He had gotten very close to Matt and Pidge in grade school.” His eyes flickered up to meet hers. “We’ve been neighbors for a long time. Anyway, he wanted to go wherever they were going, and Matt was going to a magnet high school for STEAM. I thought it would be better for Keith to stay with his friends. It was so hard for him to open up after Mom died, and then Minnie.” He put his head in his hands.

Allura couldn’t stand to see that hangdog look on his face, especially since she didn’t think he deserved it. “Maybe you were right,” she said, touching his forearm. “Illicit dance contest entries aside, he seems very well-adjusted. In any case you can’t go back in time.”

“Guess that’s true,” Shiro looked up and smiled wryly. “I don’t suppose you have any embarrassing video of Lance dancing, now that I’ve shown you embarrassing video of my little brother.” Shiro’s smile turned mischievous. “It’s only fair.”

“I don’t know that this is anywhere near as funny as what you just showed me,” Allura said, scrolling through her own stored videos, “but I happen to think it’s cute.”

The video opened on a sunnily lit dance studio, palm trees visible through the high windows. This was when they were in Miami, where they’d stayed through Christmas break of that first year so that Lance could get better acclimated to the United States. Lance himself appeared in the shot, coltishly skinny in black tights and a white t-shirt, with a huge smile on his face. _“¡Dale!”_   he said cheerfully. His voice wouldn’t start changing for another few months.

_“Here I come Lance, hold still!”_   A very young girl’s voice sounded authoritatively from out of camera range, before a tiny redhead in a pink leotard and wrap skirt ran into frame, launching herself at Lance like an angry bird.

Lance bent his legs in a gentle plié, arms out to catch her, but she overshot and wound up wrapped around his head like a pastel trapper hat. _“I thought you were going to hold still!”_

_“Debo doblar mis rodillas.”_ Lance’s voice was muffled by a leg. Allura remembered that at this point in time Lance understood English very well but was still having trouble pronouncing it. It was one of the factors that had led to Allura accepting an assignment in Ann Arbor that winter, actually. She’d come to fear that Lance might not get over his nerves about his accent in English if he was constantly surrounded by people who understood his Spanish.

_“He has to plié to catch you, Florona.”_   The fondly exasperated voice of the instructor, Madame Luxia, came from out of frame. _“You can’t expect him to lift your entire weight to shoulder level without bending his knees first, be considerate of his back.”_

_“Okay.”_ Florona hopped down off Lance’s shoulders. They tried again. And again and again, with Lance catching her bridal style, in a knee hang, in a hip lift, even an over the shoulder lift which was quite impressive but not what they were aiming for that day.

_“Oh brother.”_   Florona struck the sort of dramatically fed-up pose that was a tweenaged girl specialty. _“We’re never going to get this.”_

_“¡Vuelve a intentarlo!”_   Lance struck his wiry shoulder like the world’s gangliest matador.

_“Yes, Florona,”_ Madame Luxia insisted. _“One more time!”_

_“Fine.”_ On reflection, it was quite possible that Allura had Florona to thank for the theatrical eye roll which Lance had mastered and still used to this day. _“Get ready.”_

_“¡Dale!”_   This time Lance said it like he was biting the air.

Florona ran at him, leaped and twisted in midair, and this time she landed right where she was supposed to: perched on his shoulder. It took her a moment to comprehend where she was; when she did, she hastened to arrange her arms and legs in seated fourth position.

_“Felicidades, you did it!”_   Allura’s own voice came from behind the camera.

_“Bravi!”_   Madame Luxia, regal in an elaborate French braid, black tank dress and teaching sandals, stepped into frame to make minute adjustments to the students’ forms. _“And to think you would have missed out on this moment, you must never give up.”_

Florona looked down at Lance, who was grinning up at her. _“We rock!”_ she said, and he laughed, the very picture of elation.

“You’re right, that was cute.” Shiro tilted his head as he met Allura’s eyes. “That looked like professional training? He seemed pretty far along if the trainer was letting him catch an airborne ninety pound girl.”

Allura nodded. “In Cuba, ballet is serious business. Alicia Alonso is a national role model, you know.”

“I didn’t know that.” Shiro bit his lip, lowered his gaze. “How come he stopped?”

“He didn’t, really,” Allura admitted. “I asked him to ease off and give other disciplines a chance.”

She’d demanded it, in truth. At the time she’d thought he was just holding onto what was familiar in a strange place.

Shiro blinked. “Was he not showing promise at it?”

“Oh no, he had plenty of promise. I’m sure he could have made it into just about any city company he pleased if he’d kept up the training regimen he’d been accustomed to when he first came here.”

“Well then,” Shiro hesitated, “why…?”

Allura shook her head. “It would be different if he were still in Cuba. Pursuing a career in ballet there is financially rewarding if you’re successful. It’s well worth the risk of failure. But here, the scope is just not the same. Even if he made it into a major company he would still be looking at modest pay for only as long as his body held out.”  

By the time she’d realized Lance had real talent for the art form it was far too late to safely send him back to Cuba. She’d wondered then what was going through Tia Orla’s head when she’d pushed so hard for her youngest boy to be in the running for fostering.

She never regretted choosing him over Bocar, though. Tio Aldo had used his black market connections to smuggle out a video resume of the boy, which had not won him any favor with Allura. Bocar was, quite frankly, a pill in boy form, and Lance was Lance. After witnessing him in the spectacular throes of a crush his sophomore year of high school, Allura finally realized that Tia Orla must have been worried about how the culture of machismo on the island would alter Lance’s vivacious personality.

“Don’t most ballet dancers eventually go into teaching or choreography or something like that?”

“It takes capital or connections to get those positions. Sometimes both, and the competition is brutal.” Allura waved her hand. “Why should he even have to worry about that when there are so many other options he could pursue here?”

“But will he love those options as much as he loves to dance?”

“He has to.” Allura clutched the napkin on her place setting like it could wring out the answer to a question she hadn’t asked yet. “I don’t know if Lance has brought this up with you, but we foster our relatives, it’s a tradition. Lance can’t do that if he’s pursuing a career that demands all his time with little monetary compensation in return.” She looked up in trepidation only to find that Shiro’s eyes on her were thoughtful, not judging. “And he’s so smart, Shiro. There are so many other things he could do now, if he’d just give them a chance.”

“It’s hard giving up a dream, isn’t it?” Shiro smiled wistfully. “Even when you know that’s what you should do.”

Allura wondered what he’d given up as she realized that she hadn’t really done the same. Not to say that she hadn’t experienced loss or made sacrifices, she had on both counts. But she hadn’t lost her dream.

She had known what sort of career she’d wanted from her very first geometry class, her long-term plan coalescing within a few years of that moment. Tio Alfor had never denied her pursuit of STEM coursework, even as he’d continued to insist that she learn how to navigate the perilous waters of high society. Marrying well was his backup plan for her; she knew this and the prospect of it had soured her stomach. Thank heaven it had never come to that, because she didn’t think she had the temperament for it.

And yet. When it came to pursuing her dreams, he had allowed her to try, even though the value system he’d been raised on insisted that training her to be brilliant in social life would be more useful to her future than science. He’d allowed her to take her chance. All he’d asked was that whatever she did, she’d shine.

A guy in a Cubs pullover hotfooted it over from the bar carrying two mugs of beer, attracting attention because of the flecks of foam sloshing out in all directions. “Hey, somebody turn on DTV, they’re having a contest and it looks like that kid from the news is on it!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> qué bola - Literal translation is similar to 'how they hangin' but in Cuban Spanish this is a more of an all-purpose greeting, not unlike the way 'my dudes' is currently being used in English.
> 
> me cago en ná - This is a contraction of 'I shit on everything,' which is an idiom expressing extreme surprise. 
> 
> no es fácil - 'It ain't easy'
> 
> cuidado - Literal translation is 'care,' in Spanish it is used in the same way 'watch out' is used in English.
> 
> ay de mi - Literally 'oh of me,' used equivalently to 'poor me.'
> 
> pendejo - This is a vulgar term for pubic hair, and also used as an insult in Spanish. How bad of an insult depends on which country you're using it in, but for the most part it is equivalent to 'asshole.'
> 
> ay por Dios - Literally 'oh for God,' used equivalently to 'for God's sake.'
> 
> amor - 'love'
> 
> que será será - whatever will be, will be
> 
> pas de poisson - 'Step of the fish,' a jump in which the legs are brought back and together as if to emulate a mermaid's tail.
> 
> dale - 'go ahead'
> 
> Debo doblar mis rodillas - I must bend my knees
> 
> Vuelve a intentarlo - Try again
> 
> felicidades - 'congratulations'
> 
> bravi - Italian expression of appreciation for a fine performance, in the multi-gender plural. Balletomanes can be very particular about that.


	15. Technique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Allura race towards the Arus building as Lance and Keith race towards their destinies. Pidge is the MVP who might have the solution to several people's problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the kudos, you guys have made this experience awesome for me and I hope I've been able to return the favor at least a little bit!
> 
> "Save my heart and pick me up from the start, take my hand and carry me 'til the end" - Save My Heart, performed by The Noisy Freaks (feat. Sir Pryce)

 

“Our ratings just shot through the roof.” Executive Producer Amal Gamous, who was also acting as a judge tonight, stood there in the silver holographic tail coat with dad jeans and white leather gym shoes that he always wore when he got a chance to be in front of the camera and which nobody could convince him looked ridiculous as an outfit.

“Do we know why?” Not that Coran was complaining, far from it. It was just that he felt it prudent to make sure that the gift horse didn’t have rabies.

“Who cares?” Gamous practically vibrated with happiness. “The timing is perfect!”

“Is it though? I mean, they’ve only just tuned in at the end.”

“Not quite.” Gamous whipped a printout in front of Coran’s astonished face. “Feast your eyes on this.”

“Surely you must be joking.” He read the information on the printout with dawning alarm. This could not be happening.

“No joke, my friend.” Gamous patted Coran sympathetically on the shoulder. “In any other circumstances I’d just let you cast the tie breaking vote, but the network gave us permission to go over our time slot and the ratings are so hot, we can’t pass up this opportunity. We’ve got eyeballs, and that means advertising dollars.”

“This is terrific.” Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger.

“I knew you’d see the positive my good man.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance clutched Keith’s arm as they waited for the announcement. Six of the seven couples had been ushered into a seating wagon onstage, and Lance was too high-key nervous to devote brain cells to wondering where Rolo and his partner were. Two rows down to the left, he could see the back of Lotor’s shellacked head, and he could feel the evil vibes wafting up in his direction along with the hydrocarbons. When he and Keith had ascended the steps to get to their seats, Lotor sent him a scowl that could have scorched the ozone layer.

Coran finally joined them onstage with a strange look on his face. “Rolling,” came softly from a string bean staff member wearing a headset, and Coran straightened and arranged his features into a bright smile as he brought up his microphone.

“We’re back and I know you’re all looking forward to finding out who will be our new regulars on Dance TV, but I have some incredible news to share with you. We have a tie.”

Lance held his breath as the audience murmured fitfully.

“That means we’ll need to have a dance-off to choose the ultimate winner.” Coran snapped open a folded piece of paper. “The first couple to compete in our final dance-off will be Roy Throk and Lotor Drule.”

Lance swore he felt his spirit trying to leave his body. Dimly, he was aware of restless babble rising from the audience. Keith found his hand and held it hard enough to leave marks.

“And our next couple will be Lance Martinez and Keith Kim.”

“Oh my God.” Lance let out the breath he was holding as Keith tugged him into his arms.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“What? Dance-off? What? What?”

“Focus, Shiro.”

They had paid the tab at lightning speed as soon as they’d spotted their wayward wards in the last place they wanted to see them: less than a meter from Lotor Drule. Now they were in Shiro’s truck pedal to the metal to get to them. Allura was glad Shiro had talked her into leaving her Subaru at his place, because he was far more familiar with downtown than she was.

The GPS locator said Lance’s phone was at home but they both knew that just meant Lance had left it behind because there he’d been on live TV, bigger than life, with Keith. Allura pulled up an app on her own phone to watch the show so they could keep track of what was happening there as best they could. If there was anything good about Lance and Keith making the final round it was that they weren’t likely to disappear into the night before their guardians could catch up with them.

“How soon until we reach the Arus building?”

“I don’t know, ten minutes? Traffic’s not that bad tonight.” Shiro looked slightly crazed under the street lights, like he’d just been dropped off from being kidnapped by aliens. “Allura, did they say dance-off?”

“Yes Shiro.” Allura wasn’t feeling much better. “They are going into a dance-off round against Lotor bloody Drule.” Those reckless gits. When she got her hands on Lance she was going to leave a permanent imprint of her shoe on his backside.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“My, that’s an interesting choice of costume change.” Coran was embarrassed to admit that he had been too preoccupied to notice that Ginger was absent from the seating wagon when he’d made the announcement about the tie.

Well, she certainly wasn’t going to avoid notice in that outfit.

“Thanks,” Ginger said distractedly. She had been kitted out in a scarlet leotard with a trailing bustle of gold and red feathers. A matching set of combs turned her blonde mop into a downy cascade. The gold and red color scheme continued in the makeup, with Ginger’s eyelashes feathered in the colors and her lips a bold statement of brick red with gold glitter, which also speckled her arms and cheekbones.

“The firebird?” Coran addressed the question to Ginger’s companion, the same androgynous child he had seen run off with Nyma earlier.

“It’s a classic for a reason,” the child said. “I borrowed some pieces from wardrobe. Figured it would be alright since she’ll be going in front of the cameras to announce Keith and Lance as the winners.”

“That’s mighty confident of you.”

“Confident is my middle name.”

“And the first?”

The child hesitated a moment. “I answer to Pidge.”

“Well Pidge, since the two of you have gone to so much trouble to give Ginger the razzle dazzle treatment, I shall take you up on your offer to have her announce the winner, but I ask a favor of you in return.”

Pidge squinted up at Coran, arms folded. “I reserve the right to say no.”

“Of course. But I think you’ll want to do this favor.” It was perfect, really. He couldn’t go near them until the contest was over, but Pidge could. And it wasn’t untoward, since they were still going to have to meet the challenge anyway. As far as Coran was concerned, he was merely nudging along the vote that would have been his if a sudden ratings bonanza and the promise of sweet, sweet advertisement money had not interfered.

“Alright.” Pidge looked intrigued. “I’m listening.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Keith held Lance close behind the privacy screen next to their makeup table in the dressing room. “We can do this,” he whispered over and over, running soothing hands down his spine and up again, down and up, cotton and bare skin. Lance’s breathing had evened out several minutes ago, but Keith didn’t want to stop because the tactile comfort was doing as much for himself as it was for Lance.

“You can totally do this,” said the voice of a third person suddenly in their space.

“Gah!” Keith nearly barked his shin on the makeup chair.

“Don’t freak out,” said the gremlin child.

“Too late.” Lance managed to work up a smile for Pidge. Keith was taking that as a good sign.

“Sit.” Pidge pointed at the makeup chair.

“I won’t say no to a touch-up,” said Lance as he sank into the chair, “but I think we’ve got bigger issues to worry about.”

“You do,” Pidge agreed, “and that’s why I’m here. Why is your ass not in the chair yet?”

It took Keith a second to realize she was looking at him. “What, me? Because there’s one chair and two asses.”

“So share it.” Pidge looked pointedly at the chair and back at Keith. Keith looked pointedly at the small chair currently occupied by Lance and back at Pidge.

“C’mere.” Lance yanked Keith’s hand to pull him down onto his lap. Keith was suddenly enveloped by warm arms and the scent of Lance’s shea butter hair conditioner.

“Awesome.” Pidge set their makeup kit down on the vanity and pulled out two tubes of concealer and a box of translucent powder. “Matt’s makeup is holding out pretty well so I’m just gonna give you guys a quick bake to see you through until the end of the night.”

“You’ll be our hero ‘til the morning light?” Keith joked.

“Dude.” Pidge started dotting concealer on him. “Don’t sleep in your makeup.”

“I’m kidding, cripes.”

“Don’t joke about bad skincare.” Lance hooked a chin over Keith’s shoulder to watch Pidge work. “I don’t want my boyfriend to die of a flesh-eating bacterial infection.”

“A what now?” He was exaggerating with the flesh-eating bacteria thing. Right?

Pidge’s lip twitched in amusement as they leaned past Keith to start sprinkling Lance with the tiny amount of concealer that he definitely didn’t need. “Okay guys, this is what’s up,” they said in a low voice, moving in close enough to smell rosemary on their breath. “Coran told me you two got top scores from all three of the producers, and Lame Bore didn’t. It’s one of those two B listers that gave top scores to Lame Bore and caused the tie, so that’s who you’ll need to win over to beat the tie.”

Keith looked into Pidge’s face as they came back to him to blend out his concealer. “Did he say how?”

“He figures the rogue judge liked the bombastic romantic stuff in Lame Bore’s routine.” Pidge smoothed out Lance’s scintilla of concealer and started laying on the powder. “So, if you’ve got any moves like that in your repertoire, time to bust ‘em out. Oh, and by the way?” They jabbed Keith on the arm with their pointy little fingers.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“For getting me stuck on “Holding Out For A Hero,” now I can’t get it out of my head.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The thing about security guards is that once they’d ascertained a person wasn’t a threat to anyone on premises, they didn’t give a pin where one needed to be and were extremely unhelpful in pointing one in the right direction.

Allura anxiously counted floors waiting for the elevator. One carriage was way up near the top floor and the other had been on the parking garage level for quite some time. Shiro put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Someone here has to know where they’re filming,” he said.

“Logically I know that, but emotionally I’m feeling lost and besides that I really don’t much care for elevators.” Even when they were posh she generally preferred the stairs. Except when she was in a hurry. Like right now.

Shiro looked apologetic, despite that none of this was his fault. “I’m sorry Allura, I didn’t know. If you’d like we could look for the stairwell.”

*Ding!*

The dreaded elevator opened on a group of four adult humans dressed like giant mice. The blue one with the red eyes said, “You getting on, or what?” When Shiro and Allura hesitated, he added “We’re late for a taping, on or off, chop-chop.”

Allura squared her shoulders and got on. Shiro followed directly. The elevator was too warm from being crammed full of fleece-covered bodies, and it smelled kind of like mothballs.

“Which floor?” asked the tall yellow one, much more politely than the red-eyed blue one.

“Which floor does DTV tape on?” asked Shiro.

“Second floor.” Big Yellow casually reached over Shiro’s shoulder to push the button.

When the doors opened again it was not a moment too soon. “Have fun kiddies,” said the rude blue one.

“What do you suppose they’re taping?” Shiro wondered aloud as he followed Allura down the hall.

“I don’t know but good luck to whomever has to work with that one with the red eyes. He’s a complete arsehole, that one is.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“You there!”

Pidge halted just outside of the dressing room, one hand still on the knob. Bearing down on them like an angry borzoi was none other than Lotor Drule.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he barked. “I need fresh bronzer and my blowout is drooping.”

Pidge felt the tension that had seized them flow back out of their body. “I don’t work here, bozo.” Since they didn’t have long hair to flip, they flipped the makeup bag over their shoulder instead as they schlepped it on out of there, ignoring Lotor’s indignant howling at their back. They weren’t keen on the possibility of having him trail them all the way to the greenroom and into the wings though, so they took the exit leading into the public hallway instead.

“Hold it right there, Pidge!”

Pidge froze in the hallway as Shiro and Allura stormed towards them as a united front.

“I can explain everything,” they said, holding up their hands. “Just listen.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Use the nu disco tune.

 

The text from Nyma’s phone number bleeped in on Coran’s phone. He hadn’t had time to block her with all that had been happening. Just because the EPs approved an extra long commercial break didn’t mean he had leisure to get a cuppa and winnow her out of his contacts, as spitefully enjoyable a chore as that might be.

Nyma must be watching the show from wherever she’d scuttled off to. She was probably referring to the song they’d used as part of a joint promotion with a scripted drama on the same network, the synchronization license hadn’t run out on it yet. He actually had been wondering what song from their library to use for round two, but the principle of the thing still rankled.

 

Thought u said u weren’t going to throw the contest?

 

He was preparing to power down the phone after that, because he really did not need the distraction right now, when it beeped again.

 

Throk and Drule might look the part but Kim and Martinez can interpret the music.

 

That was not the response to his jibe that he’d been expecting.

 

Why should I trust u Jezebel?

 

Though he supposed it wouldn’t hurt just to see if the song file could be quickly located. He got McBee’s attention. “Go find Cinda, would you? Ask her if she can track down the featured song from the roller rink episode.”

 

I’ve seen Kim and Martinez dance. Not on the show, at a club.

 

Coran stared at the missive, wondering what her game was.

 

Don’t even try to pretend ur not rooting for them. I know u.

 

That was true enough. He tapped back.

And I know u. So again, why should I trust u?

 

“Cinda found the song boss, want her to pull it?”

 

Why would I want u any more pissed off at me than u already r?

 

She raised a valid point. She couldn’t afford to alienate him completely. Her band might need a boost from the show someday.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Hunk noticed Shiro sit down next to him out of the corner of his eye and said “hey Shiro” before the salient facts of that moment suddenly hit him. “Shiro?!” On the other side of Shiro, Matt looked like he was trying to deflate himself into a Matt-shaped seat cover.

“Hey Hunk.” Shiro offered a feline smile that was apparently a gift from the mother he shared with Keith. “I’d say ‘fancy meeting you here,’ but that would imply I wasn’t expecting to find you.”

Hunk’s stomach suddenly felt like it was trying to achieve liftoff, but of all the people who could have found them out, he supposed Shiro was not the worst.

“I’m surprised Pidge gave up their seat, honestly,” Matt dared to say from the depths of his own seat.

“Oh, I’m not.” Shiro sat back and crossed his arms. “Allura can be very persistent.”

Well, now it was worse. There was no time to dwell on that, however, because the house lights went down and the “Quiet Please” sign lit up.

On stage, two asses appeared. Like, literally, Lotor and his partner stood assward to the audience, counting off the beat with one hand.

“He looks like one of those gold people from _Guardians of the Galaxy_   in that outfit.”

Hunk turned his head to the side and yep, that was Shiro being salty. Matt coughed something that sounded like “bronzer fail” and Hunk stomped on the ingrained urge to say something nice about someone who was having shade thrown at them behind their back. This was Lotor they were talking about, and he did kind of look like a Sovereign in that outfit.

Then Lotor and his partner stepped sideways into turns with the leg straight out like that guy in _Modern Problems_ , before his pantaloons got all explodey. Just thinking about that scene made Hunk snicker. He put a hand over his mouth and glanced over at Shay, like what the hell, Hunk, have a little class in front of the lady.

The lady was biting her lips trying to hold back a laugh of her own. Her dancing eyes met Hunk’s for just a moment, and that was all he needed to realize two things: one, they could not continue to maintain eye contact or they were both going to break out laughing and they wouldn’t be able to stop. And two: he was totally in love with Shay.

Hunk returned his gaze to the stage where Lotor was being twirled around in a circle, but his mind remained on the girl in the seat next to him. She made him feel so high that not even Shiro’s tetchy expression in his peripheral vision could hope to bring him down for long.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“Hey, you can’t go out there.” A man in a headset and red bowtie dared to park his insubstantial frame in Allura’s path. “You’re headed past the soundproofed zone.”

“Either move your skinny arse out of my way or I will pluck the last two hairs out of your head, and we’ll find out if your screams carry past the soundproofed zone.”

“Nobody threatens my last hairs.” Skinny bowtie tapped the walkie talkie at his belt. “Sandu, help!”

Allura looked to Pidge for assistance, but they just said “Toldja” and then made sure they were standing well clear of whatever was about to go down. Allura supposed they were still peeved about having to give their seat away to Shiro, but they were just going to have to get over it.

“What in blue blazes is going on over here?” The show’s host, a tall man with a magnificent ginger mustache, joined the backstage conflagration. “Pidge? I would have thought you’d have rejoined your friends by now.”

“Oh, I joined ‘em,” Pidge said, and Allura was getting the sense that there was a hidden conversation going on there. “But then Amazon Spice here showed up. This is Lance’s cousin Allura.”

“Lance is your relative?” The host, what was his name? Corcoran? He twinkled at her winningly. “You must be so proud of him.”

“I… well, that is to say…”

“Somebody called for help?” A strapping young fellow in dark brown coveralls strode up to the group.

“Sandu, my good man, just in time!” Cornelius sent a pointed look to skinny bowtie whilst stepping in front of him. “Would you be so kind as to set up this lovely lady and Pidge here in the greenroom with something from craft services? Make sure the monitor is working properly in there as well.”

“I’m on it.”

“Excellent.” Corbin turned back to Allura. “Please enjoy our hospitality, and I will be along in a little while to answer your questions. You have a wonderful boy in Lance, if I do say so myself. Such a bright soul.”

Allura supposed being ushered to a comfortable room with food in it was preferable to being escorted out by security. At least this way she would be able to intercept Lance before he could vacate the building, and she was close enough to leap to his defense if necessary. In the meantime, eating a lemon chicken salad sandwich surely wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

Allura was sat on a chesterfield sofa next to Pidge, who kicked their feet up on the coffee table. Sharing the room but ignoring the repast was a blonde dressed like a showgirl, perched on the ottoman so as not to damage her feather bustle.

On the widescreen in front of them, Lotor Drule was finally being hauled off stage by the crotch. He and his bulging partner were not even fully out of camera range before Lance and Keith glided in, spinning and doing some complicated looking footwork. Allura had known of Lance’s prowess at ballet, social dancing, even gymnastics, but she hadn’t known he could do that.

“Geez.” The showgirl’s feathers rustled as she wilted on the ottoman. “Lotor Drule is still really good.”

“Not as good as Lance,” Allura scoffed.

“Or Keith,” Pidge said, putting up their hand that wasn’t occupied with a sandwich.

 After only a second’s hesitation, Allura high-fived it.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lance felt the four on the floor rhythm in every muscle as Keith pulled him into a sweetheart step. Keith squeezed Lance’s hands to let him know what was coming on the next pass, and he let gravity take over, trusting Keith to keep a tight grip. It was the death drop, one of the more daring dips that they’d practiced. Lance figured if he was going to the mat anyway, why not do it on purpose? Keith maintained plenty of leverage because he had Lance by both hands and remained standing upright. The hard part for him would be pulling Lance back out of it.

Lance didn’t personally think it was as romantic as the neck drop, but it was a flashy move that showed off their core strength and level of synchronicity. Keith swung Lance back on his feet with a pull through the legs and led him into another sweetheart. Then he threw Lance into an around the back aerial, ending with him cuddled bridal style in Keith’s arms. Now that was romantic! He winked his extra-glittery eye at Keith before the throw out, and caught a glimpse of Keith’s answering grin as they exited on opposite sides of the stage in across the floor combos.

Lotor’s partner was hitting the floor literally as they were exiting, as in, he hit the floor in a dolphin dive. Then he was up and doing body rolls and popping. The dude was a big, sexy beast, alone on the floor with no Lotor. Was it too much to hope that he was going rogue?

Oh wait, here was Lotor. The hip rolling walk said he was all about the teamwork on this new burlesque approach to their vibe, but the diamond hard expression on his face was a tougher read. Lotor’s partner reached out a hand to him and when Lotor took it, he yanked him in for some up close and personal body rolls. Lotor’s lips puckered like he tasted lemons. Sexy Beast bent him backwards into a zouk dip, and Lotor managed to adapt quickly, following into a yoyo spin and some more body waves.

However, when Sexy Beast released Lotor, instead of following his partner’s lead back off the floor, Lotor launched into fouettés, making it up to thirteen before jetéing off the stage.

Oh, hell no. This stage hog surely did not think he was going to out-dance Lance with a solo from a ballet he was extremely familiar with, and then half-ass it as if Lance wasn’t a serious contender. Powered up by just how damn offended he was at the assumption, Lance hit the floor in a grand assemblé en tournant from the same ballet, feeling the cool air wash over his skin as he turned soaring through the air, before taking a final landing on the knee.

He raised his arm and lifted his head to discover Keith smirking above him. Maybe he should have waited to talk to him backstage before busting out the ballet moves. Woops? But Keith didn’t scold, just took his upraised hand and pulled him to his feet into close embrace turns.

As he pressed their cheeks together, Keith whispered into Lance’s ear, “Bird me.”

Lance grinned, heart still thrumming from the energy expended on those jumps, but if Keith wanted to fly? Lance would get him in the air. He squeezed their held hands to let him know he wanted to change leads; Keith squeezed back that he understood. Lance pulled Keith into cuddle position and then moved his cuddle arm in front and bent forward to catch Keith around the waist. Keith was ready to jump when Lance got his other arm behind his knees, and with that assisted somersault he was able to get Keith ‘flying’ on his shoulder like a superhero. Keith’s body was warm and taut in the circle made by Lance’s shoulder and arm. Lance was high on endorphins as he ‘flew’ Keith back to the wings.

One quick forward flip dismount later and they were side by side, taking in swallows of air and watching Lotor and Sexy Beast make their last bid for the prize.

Lotor and his partner hit the floor in synchronized jazz pirouettes to either side before Sexy Beast boosted Lotor up into a star lift from floor level and then released him with the same roller blind move that Keith and Lance had employed earlier in the competition. !Hijo de puta! Then those two assholes strutted over stage right where Lance and Keith were waiting for their last turn, sneering like they’d already won.

They had thrown down the gauntlet by copying one of their moves and doing it one better, but Lance wasn’t about to surrender. He turned to Keith to tell him so.

“We’re doing the dip,” Keith said before Lance could get a word out.

“Hell yeah we are.” He didn’t even need to say which one, Lance knew.

“I’ll catch you,” Keith promised.

“I know you will.” Lance’s smile was ferocious. “Let’s do this.”

Keith led Lance across the floor in a series of free spins before pulling him into a butterfly spin. Lance gave in to the seductive lure of the Cuban motion in this dance, because if it was do or die, he was going to enjoy it to the very end. Keith squeezed his contact hand. On the next close Keith reached for his other hand and Lance gave it freely. Keith drew him into close promenade and Lance let go of both hands in anticipation, putting his inside hand on Keith’s outside shoulder to maintain contact without getting in his way.

Keith wrapped Lance’s nape securely in his inside hand, and because Lance had a hand on his trapezius he felt the muscles tighten as Keith lunged and his arms, shoulders and core bore Lance’s weight on the way down. Lance let his inside arm fall back, fingers fanned, while he kept the outside arm firmly to his side, inside leg bent and core tight to help support his weight.

Keith’s wide eyes stared into Lance’s incredulously, red-dipped hair floating around his face as he held Lance off the ground, the points of their bodies forming sacred geometry.

“I love you,” Lance said. The warmth of it suffused him like the feeling of home.

Keith smiled tremulously for another long, lovely moment before gently pulling him back upright and kissing him sweetly on the mouth. “I love you too.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

In the greenroom, Pidge launched into a herkie off the sofa. “Did you see that? I mean, did you see that?”

“I saw it, yes.” Allura was too beside herself to chastise Pidge for jumping on their host’s furniture. She’d known Lance had talent for ballet and was competent in the dance hall, but she’d had no idea how good a dancer Lance was in a broader sense. How passionate. It had filtered through every style he and Keith had danced through. There was no longer any doubt in Allura’s mind that this was his heart’s true path.

“Did you see that move at the end? Wasn’t it raw?”

Allura smiled. For the first time since this whole thing started, she felt light as one of the feathers in Ginger’s hair. “It was definitely something.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Shiro found himself with emotional teenagers on either side of him, and he really wasn’t quite sure what to do about that.

“How much longer do you think they’re going to take?” Matt had pulled his legs up to his chin in the seat.

“I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.” Hunk had been biting his nails, which couldn’t be good. Keith had never had that particular problem, but biting nails wasn’t good, right? Teenage mood swings should come with placards for safe handling.

“Don’t worry baby, it’ll work out.” That was Shay on the other side of Hunk, bless her calm, rational soul. “They did so well, I’m sure of it. Right Shiro?” Oh, hell.

“It’ll be fine.” It was all in the delivery, he’d read that somewhere. “You’ll see.” _Nailed it._

House lights went down. “Quiet Please” lit up and the crowd hushed. The backdrop, which had previously been gradient gray to keep the focus on the dancers downstage, suddenly displayed footage of a bonfire on the shore of Lake Michigan, embers sparking up merrily into a sunset sky.

A striking young woman decked out in flame-colored feathers walked onstage with a portable mic in one hand and a folded piece of paper in the other.

“Hey isn’t that Ginger?” Hunk whispered on one side of Shiro. Was he supposed to know who Ginger was?

“I’m not sure, but Pidge definitely did her makeup,” Matt whispered from the other side. Oh, so they were just talking across Shiro like he was the buffer friend. Got it.

Wait. “How do you know Pidge did the makeup?” Shiro whispered.

“Pidge has a thing for phoenix imagery,” whispered Matt. “Plus I recognize those feather falsies.”

Downstage, Ginger stepped into a circle of light and held up her microphone. Upstage from her, the two remaining couples stepped into spotlights of their own: Keith and Lance held hands stage right, and the other two stood stiffly stage left.

“Welcome back to Dance TV,” Ginger said, her bright young voice ringing out loud and clear. She trilled out a laugh. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” The audience laughed with her. “Well, we’ve finally tallied the scores, and I really hope it’s not another tie,” she said in aside, “because it’s getting kind of late and I don’t dare eat with this lipstick on.” She earned herself another laugh from the audience, this one jittery with excitement. The moment was nigh.

Ginger opened the paper, stared at it for a moment with wide feathery eyes. “Gentle viewers, there is no more tie, these scores are unanimous. The winners are Keith Kim and Lance Martinez!”

Shiro was out of his seat cheering before he was even consciously aware of standing up, and he accidentally brought Hunk and Matt out of their seats with him because they’d both been clinging to his jacket sleeves and he hadn’t noticed that either. Shay jumped out of her seat to cheer too. The whole row stood up, and the rest of the audience caught the mood and followed suit.

Onstage, Keith picked up Lance and swung him around, kissing his face and getting blue glitter on his lips. At some point he must have heard Shiro whooping out his name though, because his gaze swept out over the audience. He met Shiro’s eyes and looked absolutely stunned. Shiro smiled and mouthed, “Aim high.” Keith grinned in pure relief and mouthed back, “fly fight win.”

“Congratulations to our new DTV regulars!” The orange-haired host had come out of seemingly nowhere to join the kids onstage. “Keith, Lance, and let’s not forget Ginger!”

“Let’s not? Oh my stars!” Ginger’s surprise was caught by the mic as Keith and Lance lifted her up like a diva and started carrying her around the stage. Behind them, Lotor Drule socked his dance partner in the arm and stomped offstage. The partner trailed after him looking bewildered.

“Maybe I’d better go do something about that.” Shiro didn’t want anything to interrupt this moment his kid brother was having. He deserved to enjoy it before reality inevitably came crashing back in on them.

“Don’t worry man.” Matt was looking at a text on his phone. “Pidge says Lotor has a surprise waiting to catch him outside.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Lotor stalked into the wings with a fiery unfamiliar feeling in his gut. He’d worked so hard to make sure those vulgarians couldn’t ruin his moment. He’d taken the necessary steps to keep them out, and he’d done everything right to prove he was the best. How could it all have gone so wrong? 

“Lotor?”

Of course. He’d hired a wretched creature, so wretched service was what he’d received. “You!” He turned and pointed accusingly at Throk, who stopped warily. “What the hell were you thinking with that bump and grind nonsense? That wasn’t part of our program!”

“I was thinking we were losing to those two chickens and we’d better dial up the sexy to prove we’ve got something they don’t.”

“I don’t have to prove anything. You ruined the routine!”

“You mean the routine with nothing but froufrou moves?” Throk actually had the audacity to laugh. “Honey, that was never gonna stay fresh on a second round. They were catching up too fast, we had to adjust our groove.”

“I am not your honey.” Lotor was incandescent with rage. “You may refer to me as Mr. Drule. Or better yet, just don’t call me.”

“Mr. Drule?”

Lotor turned towards the unfamiliar voice interrupting Throk’s well-deserved dressing-down and found a man with appalling sideburns and wearing a quilted jacket over a sports coat (dreadful) studying him from the emergency exit. Leaning through the door next to him and letting cold air inside was a uniformed policeman.

“I’d love to help you sort out your fashion emergency, but I’m late for being elsewhere.”

“It would be helpful if you would come with us now,” said the fashion disaster, “before a crowd shows up and complicates matters.”

“While I would ordinarily appreciate a police escort, I am afraid that tonight I am in no mood and must decline.”

“This isn’t an invitation,” said the policeman. “We don’t have to keep being nice about this.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about. Throk, what have you done?” Lotor looked back towards Throk and caught a glimpse of his rock hard buns disappearing through the door of an access hallway.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch up with your associate later.” The fashion disaster had gotten closer while Lotor’s back had been turned, and the policeman had paced him. “We’ll explain everything on the ride to the station.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“So how much trouble are we in?” Keith heard Hunk’s anxious voice before the greenroom door was completely open. “Be straight with me, Shiro. I need to know if my mother wants me completely dead or just mostly dead.”

Lance, who was tucked up against Keith’s side, turned his head towards his cousin, who sighed and said, “I don’t see the point of continuing to ground you after you’ve become gainfully employed in such a spectacular fashion.”

Lance exhaled in relief. Keith nuzzled his sweaty hair, and Ginger said, “Aw, you’re cute!”

“Yeah they’re frickin’ adorable,” Pidge said, making barfing motions. Keith gave them the one finger salute behind Lance’s back.

“Quick! Before you do anything else, I need a selfie!” Shay held out her iPhone with a panicked expression on her face. “My parents are asking why my phone says I’m downtown, and I have to prove I’m really in a TV studio!”

“Are you sure they won’t just get more upset?” Keith allowed his perspective might be skewed by recent events, but he was curious.

“You don’t understand.” Shay frantically pulled up FaceTime. “My brother went to a make-out party that got raided and he had to go to abstinence camp before the judge would seal his record and he’s been insufferable ever since. My parents won’t care that I’m at a television taping, they just want to know I’m safe and not on my way to jail.” She held up the phone. “Say cheese!”

Everybody crowded into the shot. The picture was sent, and soon replaced on the screen by the concerned face of Shay’s mother. _“Where are you? Are there adults present?”_

“Good evening Mrs. MacCarrick.” Allura stepped in, proving she could be quite diplomatic when she wasn’t completely furious.

Keith felt a hand on his shoulder. Shiro stood on the side of him not occupied by an armful of Lance.

“You were great up there tonight, kiddo.”

Keith’s chest warmed at the praise. “This mean we’re good?” he asked hopefully.

“Golden,” Shiro said. “In fact, you’ll be glad to know that I’ve finally got all my presentation materials together. I was planning to spring it on you tonight after the newscast, and you know what? I think we still have time.”

Keith’s insides instantly curdled. “Please say you don’t mean what I think you mean.”

“Yes,” Shiro smiled to beat the band. “Soon, very soon, we’ll be having that overdue sex talk. And I also think it would be a good idea to bring Lance along with you.”

“Bring me where?” Lance turned away from the FaceTime huddle.

“I thought you never wanted to hear anything about Lance’s panties, ever!”

“I do beg your pardon?” Allura peered around Hunk’s broad back. Hunk looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows.

“Relax.” Shiro raised his hands. “It’s just a sex education talk. I don’t need to hear about anyone’s underwear to explain the importance of safe sex.”

Pidge and Matt snickered.

“You know, maybe it would be a good idea to have everyone there, just to make sure nobody has any unanswered questions.” Shiro rubbed his chin like a professor in the school of How to Embarrass Your Little Brother. “Kids don’t always want to tell their parents everything.”

_“I think that’s a sterling notion. Shay, you should go too.”_

“Oh!” Shay gulped. “But I have curfew coming up soon.”

_“Nonsense, I’m extending your curfew. Hunk, I expect you to escort her there and home again.”_

“Yes ma’am.” Hunk looked like he’d rather have a root canal.

“I think this is a marvelous idea.” Allura picked up her purse from the sofa. “Where shall we have this educational discussion?”

“Our place.” Shiro looked so happy that Keith almost forgave him for what he was about to inflict upon his friend group. “I’ve got a presentation ready. And snacks, too.”

Because what was a horrifyingly embarrassing sex talk without snacks? Oh hell, it better not be the shrimp chips.

Ginger asked, “Can I go too?” to which Pidge replied, “Are you serious right now?” and Matt cut in, “Shiro, I want you to think about what you’re doing.”

Lance turned in Keith’s arms to fully embrace him, demanding his more immediate focus. “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“I’ll remind you that you said that later,” Keith promised, but he did feel a little bit better. With Lance and all their friends and family beside him, it might actually be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fouettés - Whipped turns, usually seen en pointe but male danseurs sometimes do them too.
> 
> jeté - It literally means 'thrown,' as in the dancer is throwing themselves off the ground. When you see pictures of dancers leaping in full extension before and behind, this is the sort of jump they're doing. 
> 
> grand assemblé en tournant - Joined movements while turning high in the air. This is a very athletic move that can be a real showstopper in performance.
> 
> hijo de puta - 'son of a bitch'
> 
> *~*~*~*~*~*
> 
> The movie ends right about where this chapter ends, but I always wondered what happened in the aftermath, so I decided I'd give this story an epilogue; which technically is what Chapter 16 is, the formatting wouldn't let me label it as such in advance.


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith get their 'happily into the future.' If living well is the best revenge, the gang are all winning at life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks! I had fun writing this and I hope you had fun reading it. And a shout out to spacenerd42 for your comment last chapter. I was thinking Shiro's sex talk was like the shark from Jaws: more frightening when barely glimpsed. But I was inspired by your comment. :) Salty Shiro is my spirit animal, but goofy Shiro is my son, and he totally used those shrimp chips. I'm writing the scene and hopefully I'll be able to post it as a bonus chapter this week. I'm not a very fast writer.
> 
> "The way we stand and the way we lie, the way we love and the way we cry, of all these things there lies a tie makes me feel that it's worth a try. I'll be good to you." - I'll Be Good To You, performed by The Brothers Johnson

 

Lance drummed his fingers on the Subaru’s steering wheel as he pulled up to the curb in front of Keith’s house. There was no snow on the ground yet, but any day the place could turn into a winter wonderland. Lance couldn’t wait to throw his first snowball at Keith. He was still singing the song from the radio as he danced up the steps to the bungalow’s front porch.

Keith was waiting in the open door when he got there, gorgeous in a DTV slouchy sweater and stocking feet, and cuffed jeans that Lance was pretty sure were actually his. “How’d your interview go?” A blast of warm air took the chill off as Keith let him in and helped him take off his car coat.

“It went great!” Lance had been ecstatic to land interviews with his top two college picks. Allura loaned him the car so he could meet with the advisor who’d freed up time on his schedule the day before Thanksgiving and probably also so she could canoodle with Shiro without Lance trying to lecture them on safe sex. Revenge was a dish best served medium rare, especially after discovering Shiro was a leap-year baby. “I mean, I think it went great? It felt like it went great.”

“Then it must have been brilliant.” Keith said, punctuating his words with a kiss and a smile. Lance toed off his Balmorals and lined them up next to Keith’s gym shoes in the foyer before following him farther into the house.

“Nobody bothered you this time?” Keith still fretted a bit when Lance went anywhere alone.

“Everything was smooth sailing.”

They were still waiting to find out if Lotor and his cronies were going to be indicted or not. Wade had been offered a plea deal on misdemeanor trespassing and assault charges, but he’d refused to roll over on Lotor, pled guilty and paid the fines (or rather, his father had paid the fines). It was starting to look like the lot of them might slither out of lasting trouble on lawyer grease until the family of Coral Demopoulos, a classmate of Lotor’s, got involved and breathed fresh currency into the case. In the meantime, Wade’s conviction made it easier for Lance to win restraining orders against him and Lotor, and since so many people now knew what they looked like, those orders had already proven enforceable.

Laughter floated from somewhere nearby as Keith led him through the dining room. That room had been papered in the combined contents of Keith’s college admissions binder, Shiro’s CFI textbooks and Dr. Holt’s rolodex when Lance left that morning. Between Keith and Lance’s college preparations, Allura’s applications for academic openings referred by Dr. Holt and Shiro going back to school for a teaching certificate, they’d made a breakfast party of studying and scribbling.

Allura had sold her rights to the patent on her aircraft design to Maahox in return for her remaining primary author of the published research and enough money to tide her over while searching for employment elsewhere. Shiro had initially been outraged on her behalf, but she’d explained that she was still getting what she’d originally wanted out of the deal, and meanwhile Maahox had to keep working with Zarkon which was far better retribution than either of them might yet realize.

All of their combined paperwork and other various office supplies had since been put away and a ruffled tablecloth covered in red roses laid out. The parsons chairs that matched the table had been dusted and brought down from the attic.

“Oh, wow. We’re going formal with this?” They had been invited to eat with both Hunk’s family and the Holts on Thanksgiving Day, and they planned to visit both houses, so they were having a little quiet dinner the night before. Or at least, that had been the plan before Allura discovered the lechón in Shiro’s freezer. Pidge wanted to cook it in Rover, but Allura insisted only a fire pit would do. Since it was technically Shiro’s pig, Allura won the day on that one.

“Yep.” Keith popped the ‘p.’ “Everybody’s bringing a side dish and we’re eating at the table. Even Coran’s coming over.” They’d both gotten much closer to the irrepressible man while working with him for the past couple of months. “We don’t have to get dressed up, though.”

“Well, I’m already dressed up.” Lance had worn the suit Allura helped him purchase, making it less formal by leaving off the vest, tie and cufflinks and replacing the white spread-collar shirt with a bright tattersall cutaway-collar shirt. “So.”

“Maybe I should do something about that.” Keith stopped them in the kitchen, his talented hands skimming under the lapels of the suit jacket. A hint of smoke lingered in the air near the door to the backyard. Shiro and Allura were probably out there starting the fire, and possibly Matt and Ginger too, who had started dating and tended to hang around acting ridiculous. Not that Lance and Keith ever acted equally ridiculous, no sirree.

“Maybe I’d let you.” Lance let his hands travel under the waistband of the jeans Keith was wearing, where his fingertips discovered warm skin and the texture of lace. “You ever going to give me my pants back?”

Keith smirked at Lance and drew him closer. “Only if you’re sweet to me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lechón - suckling pig for roasting
> 
> *~*~*~*~*~*
> 
> It seemed appropriate to let Keith have the last word.


	17. Bonus Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro tries to deliver a sex talk meant for Keith and Lance, but may have bitten off more than he can chew by inviting a bunch of other people along too. Farcical behavior ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By special request, here is Shiro trying to remain in control of a room flooded with hormones. In the interest of a timely post I didn't give it as many rewrites as I usually would, I hope you will still enjoy. In honor of the birthdays of both Shiro and his VA Josh Keaton, here ya go!
> 
> "And so the conversation turned until the sun went down, and many fantasies were learned on that day." - (Keep Feeling) Fascination, performed by The Human League

 

There had been some delays leaving the Arus building while Keith and Lance signed paperwork under Shiro and Allura’s watchful eyes. Coran drew up a provisional contract to sign Ginger on as an assistant host, and then pushed his luck trying to recruit Matt and an underage Pidge as makeup artists. Pidge was interested but they were out of luck until their parents weighed in, and Matt wanted some time to think it over before signing on the dotted line (translation: he wanted his mom to look over the contract first). Eventually, though, they all had to leave for the bungalow, where a different test of patience awaited them.

Shiro set a mini muffin pan down on the low slab coffee table in the front room. That pan had seen better days, but the mystery patina was probably not why their guests were staring. Keith immediately recognized the shrimp chips standing up like obscene little tent poles out of the pan’s cups. Shiro had taken one each of the stick shaped ones, and two each of the smaller round ones, and stuck them together with something dark brown that made them look like- 

“I’m not eating that,” Pidge declared from the bowl chair.

“Don’t be disrespectful.” Allura, seated on the corduroy couch next to Ginger, Hunk and Shay, plucked one up from the pan. “Shiro must have worked very hard on these.”

“I wish she hadn’t said ‘hard’ while holding a peen snack,” Lance whispered into Keith’s ear. They sat close together on the conoid loveseat, an heirloom piece that Keith’s grandfather Eugene had given to Halmoni way back when they got married. Matt had staked a claim on Shiro’s zero gravity chair, which Shiro was ignoring in favor of parking his butt on the armrest next to Allura.

Shiro puffed up with pride at Allura’s praise.

“What did you use to bind these?” Hunk picked up a peen snack and shot a dubious raised eyebrow at Shiro.

“I melted some chocolate, stuck ‘em together and let the chocolate harden.”

Damn it. Keith had plans for that chocolate, and some of those plans might have involved Lance and sexy bits but not in this combination.

He also wished people would stop saying ‘hard’ in reference to the snacks.

Hunk popped the peen snack in his mouth and chewed determinedly. Keith silently applauded his culinary courage.

“Sweet and salty always go together well.” Hunk chewed some more. “And gamberi al cioccolato is a proven winner. I’m still not sure about pairing the junk food versions, though. I think I need to taste another one to make up my mind.”

Shay picked up a peen snack and put it in her mouth and Hunk completely stopped what he was doing to watch her. She turned Bambi eyes on him as she chewed, nonplussed by his sudden fascination.

“Hey, these are good!” Ginger munched on a peen snack. She’d changed out of the firebird costume and back into her bedazzled blue leo, but she still had on the feather falsies. Matt watched her enjoy the treat with his mouth hanging open, face framed by his feet because of how far back he was reclined in the chair.

“Dude,” Keith said. Matt looked over at him. Keith mimed closing his jaw with the top of his hand. Matt closed his mouth, blushing furiously.

Over in the bowl chair, Pidge was getting a calculating look on their face that Keith could have warned Matt about but decided against it for self-preservation purposes.

A long arm gracefully extended forward through Keith’s peripheral vision to snatch up a peen snack by the tip. He turned his head to watch Lance eat the snack. All of the sudden he identified very strongly with Hunk.

Lance watched him back, smiling. “I had to know how it tasted,” he said.

“And?”

Lance tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s salty,” he said, “but also bittersweet? It’s kind of foamy on the tongue.”

“Did you know my bedroom’s right here in this house?”

Lance chuckled. “I seem to recall.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but how about we get on with the sex talk.” Pidge covered their eyes. “Soon I’ll be surrounded by people who are constantly yearning to get in each other’s pants.”

“You shouldn’t be complaining.” Keith narrowed his eyes at them. “It’ll be easier for you to plot stuff while everybody else is distracted by sex.”

“I know.” Pidge’s smile was just shy of Nicholsonian. “It’s still annoying.”

“I planned this presentation for Keith and Lance,” Shiro piped up from beside the couch, “but I still have my materials from my last talk with Keith, if anyone has any questions about sex in general.” He had dragged his old tactical bag into the front room before bringing out the peen snacks, and he was rooting around in it now.

“Nah, I know how babies are made.” Pidge finally gave in to curiosity and grabbed a peen snack. “Anybody who ever watched sitcoms in the last thirty years knows about that.” They gingerly bit off one of the round chips. “These are actually not bad.”

Shiro stood up abruptly with a handful of construction paper and a frown. “Sitcoms are not a good place to learn about childbirth. They always show a two month old baby being brought out covered in tapioca pudding to a mother with artfully tousled hair surrounded by people who act like they showed up to a garden party instead of a maternity ward. That is not what childbirth really looks like.”

“How do you know what childbirth looks like?” As far as Keith knew, Shiro had never delivered a baby. He was pretty sure if he had then he’d have told that story a million times by now.

Shiro smiled his Big Bro smile at Keith. “I was there when you were born, kiddo.”

“What?” Shiro had not mentioned this the last time. Or like, ever. “They let you in to see where I came out of?”

“I came out of there too, you know.”

“Yeah, I was allowed in the room at all my sisters’ births,” Hunk said while nomming another peen snack. “It’s a lot gorier than they can show on TV, but also quieter.” He scooped up another snack. “Nobody’s screaming or anything, but all of the bodily fluids are represented. Natalia was even born with a caul on her face. That’s not something you see everyday.”

“Keep in mind this is folk art, but this should give you a better idea of what it looks like.” Shiro pulled out an illustration matted on construction paper that Keith remembered vividly of a baby windmilling out of the mother’s vagina as the dad and the doctor stood there grinning. Shiro had annotated the picture in his military-precise handwriting, which Pidge leaned forward in their chair to read in fascination. “This is a drawing of a newborn crowning. Imagine the father is grinning in panic and it’s closer to reality.”

Lance laughed out loud and pointed. “Teeth!”

Oh, yeah. The newborn in the illustration was smiling with a full set of chompers, which only added to the uncanny valley effect of the whole image.

“Right then.” Shiro rolled his eyes. “Since someone can’t remain serious, maybe it is time to move onto the practical part of this presentation.” Then he pulled a giant purple dildo out of the tac bag.

“Oh my god Shiro, what happened to the cucumber?!!” That was what Shiro had used last time to make Keith practice how to roll a condom.

“It went bad Keith,” Shiro said, as if Keith were a bit touched in the head to have even asked. “Besides, you wouldn’t eat salad for weeks afterward.”

“Well, yeah!” He couldn’t help but wonder if Shiro was trying to feed him the same cucumber he’d rolled in latex. “But why’d you switch to… that?”

“Aside from the color, this adult toy is anatomically correct, so it should provide a more accurate practice experience.” Shiro opened a box of condoms and started tossing foil wrappers at people.

“What about the size?” Shay pointed at the dildo, wide-eyed.

“It is a little oversized,” Shiro admitted sheepishly. “I thought it would be easier to work with if I ordered the bigger one. I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting it to be quite this big.”

“You bought a dildo on the internet,” Keith said slowly.

“It’s an adult toy.”

“You bought an adult toy on the internet just to give me and Lance the sex talk?”

“Verisimilitude is an important factor in the learning experience,” Shiro insisted snappishly.

“What were you going to do with it afterward?”

“That’s not relevant to the discussion at hand.” He clapped. “Everybody inspect your condom wrapper and tell me what you find.”

“It’s shiny.” Lance was turning his wrapper over in his hands.

“Yes.” Shiro waited patiently. “What else? Don’t answer for him Keith.”

“Why is this important?” Keith demanded. “We can’t get pregnant.”

Shiro looked as horrified as a chaperone at the world’s horniest prom. “You can still pass infections to each other!”

“We’re exclusive!”

“We are?” Lance turned sideways on the loveseat, his face and posture uplifted in joy.

“Damn right we are.” Keith wasn’t down for sharing him with anybody, and he wouldn’t ask Lance to share either.

“There are some diseases that can be transmitted by both sexual and nonsexual means, like hepatitis or Zika just for example. You should use protection even during oral sex to be safe.” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lance, please tell me you noticed something else about the wrapper besides that it’s shiny.”

Lance’s neck flushed in embarrassment. “It’s intact?”

“Good enough, I’ll take it.”

“Do these things really expire like milk?” Pidge was squinting at their foil wrapper.

“Good catch Pidge, and yes, they expire, although they should last longer than a jug of milk. It’s always a good idea to check that date and the integrity of the wrapper before trusting the condom inside. Can somebody tell me how to unwrap it?”

“Like this!” Matt bit into his wrapper and tore it open, spitting out the top half as he aimed a provocative look in Ginger’s direction.

“That was very theatrical,” Shiro said, “but no. You could bite open the condom doing it like that. Somebody else?”

“This is what I do.” Ginger gently ripped the wrapper at the edge, fished around inside it with two fingers and withdrew a rolled condom. Then she smiled at Matt and waggled her eyebrows.

“Nicely done Ginger!” Shiro got out a fresh wrapped condom and waved it in Matt’s gawking face, eventually having to smack Matt on the cheek with it to get him to take it. “Keith, what’s the next step before you start putting it on?”

“You make sure it’s not inside out.”

“You want to show me?”

“No thanks.”

“Keith.” Shiro crossed his arms, prelude to a lecture on conduct unbecoming.

“Fine.” Keith unwrapped his condom and pulled out the tip just enough to show the rim was on the outside.

“That’s hot.” Lance was staring at him so intently it was easy to forget they weren’t alone in the room.

“Good job Keith. Now who wants to roll one on?” Shiro held up the purple dildo and effectively killed the mood.

Crickets chirped. Tectonic plates shifted. Stars collided.

“If you lot are too childish to demonstrate, then I will.” Allura grabbed the purple dildo out of Shiro’s hands, startling him. “Watch and learn plebeians.” Almost primly she held the dildo upright between her knees. Then she pinched the reservoir of her condom and unrolled it from the head to the base in one stroke. “Then you have to make sure there is no air trapped within,” she said, more to herself than anyone else in the room, although she had Shiro’s rapt attention. She caressed the wrapped dildo, her tongue poked out in a blep. “There.” She looked up at Shiro, her face alight with triumph.

“Abbita dibbita dabbita,” he said brightly.

“Shiro.exe has stopped working,” said Pidge.

“Baw baw baw, what?”

“We’re just waiting for you to come back online dude.”

They were rewarded for their smartassery by being the next one to have to put a condom on a dildo. The condom wrapping pass-down continued apace with minimal fumbling interrupted only at the end when Matt accidentally turned on the vibrator function.

“Verisimilitude, huh?”

“I didn’t know it came with the batteries already in it!”

“Technically it can’t REALLY cu-” Keith was stopped by hand over his mouth.

“If you finish that sentence,” said Lance, cheeks peach with mirth, “I am going to lose it.”

Meanwhile, Ginger leaped nimbly over the coffee table to Matt’s rescue to help him turn off the vibrator, causing him to nearly pass out from gratitude (and other reasons). It was probably a good thing his head was already lower than his feet.

“If everyone is finished overreacting to the adult toy’s special features,” Shiro said, hanging onto his composure by force of will, “I have something else useful to show all of you.” He snapped out the condom he’d used during his own competency demonstration, produced a pair of sewing scissors and snipped off both ends, and then sliced up the tube to create a latex square. “Ta-da! Anybody want to tell me what I’ve just made?”

“A mess.”

“A baby.”

“A Barbie rain poncho?”

“What?” Shiro looked affronted. “No! I’ve used a condom to make a dental dam. Do any of you guys know what a dental dam is for?”

“My orthodontist uses them,” Matt said. “Why is this part of a sex talk?”

“They’re used for analingus and cunnilingus!” Allura was raising her hand even as she was speaking, then seemed to remember she was not the student in this scenario and brought her hand back down.

“Five points to Gryffindor,” Lance whispered in Keith’s ear.

“Yes!" Shiro just looked relieved. “Thank you Allura, you are correct! With a dental dam in place you can perform sex acts on or near the anus with less risk of transferring fecal bacteria into your mouth. They sell flavored dental dams at sex shops, but a lot of those places you have to be eighteen just to get in the front door, so luckily a condom will do the job if you cut into a square.”

Shiro stood there beaming while the room went pin-drop silent. Finally, Shay said, “I’m not sure if I want to do anything that would require that…”

“That’s fine baby, we never have to do that if you don’t want to,” Hunk was quick to reassure her.

“This is good.” Shiro gazed benevolently upon the young couple like one of Raphael’s cherubs. “You’re communicating what you want and what you don’t want! It’s extremely important to have open communication with a sexual partner. You should never be in any doubt about your partner’s consent, and you should never be ashamed to express what you need in bed.” He stared meaningfully at Lance.

Lance squirmed under the scrutiny and turned to Keith. “There something you need that I should know about babe?”

Keith studied Shiro’s poker face. He had participated in many a stare-off with his older brother and knew what to look for. Shiro was trying to psych out his boyfriend!

He should have known better than to mess with the master.

“You know honey buns, now that I think of it, there is something.”

Lance and five other nosy people leaned forward while Pidge mouthed ‘honey buns’ and Shiro started to sweat.

“I’ve always wanted someone to lick me on the-”

Shiro broke like a pair of cheap earbuds. “Alright, that’s all we’ve got time for tonight folks, it’s getting late and we should all get ready for bed – for sleeping! Get ready for sleeping, great talk everybody!”

Keith smiled and leaned close to Lance, his boyfriend’s astonished expression blurring as he drew near. “My ear,” he whispered. “I like when you whisper in my ear, you’ve been driving me crazy with that by the way, and I’d like it even more if you would have a taste.” Then he gave the lobe of Lance’s ear a little nip as demonstration. The answering intake of breath assured he’d been heard, clear as spring water.

Now if he could only figure out a way to appropriate that adult toy without Shiro being any the wiser, it would be totally worth Pidge finding out about the ‘honey buns’ thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gamberi al cioccolato - Prawns with chocolate
> 
> *~*~*~*~*~*
> 
> I've started my next project, but I don't want to say much about it yet because I am such a slow writer and I don't know how long it's going to take me. I don't usually like to start posting until I'm at least two rewrites through a full draft. I will say this: it's based on a movie that's been done a LOT in other fandoms, but I have some ideas for it that would give it a different take on the story.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fanfic, I'm not making any money, standard disclaimers apply.


End file.
